


Blossoms Borne by the Human Tree

by kittenmittens



Category: Trigun
Genre: Alien Lactation, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, LMAO, M/M, Mpreg, Plant Reproduction, Pregnant Vash, parthenogenesis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenmittens/pseuds/kittenmittens
Summary: Vash's body is all too aware that his biological clock is ticking. Meanwhile, Wolfwood isn't aware of his own feelings and, frankly, doesn't want to be.
Relationships: Milly Thompson/Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Vash the Stampede/Nicholas D. Wolfwood
Comments: 46
Kudos: 72





	1. Party Trick

**Author's Note:**

> Reuploading because I was a little shit. I've looked into trying to transfer the entire fic as it was but you have to do all this bullshit I'm too dumb to figure out and host it on another site and in all honesty, it's just easier for me personally to upload it from scratch, chapter by chapter. So, please just bear with me! Thanks for your patience and support, guys <3

“What… happened?”

When Wolfwood finally comes to and starts talking, his voice sounds like he swallowed half the desert. But as long as he’s talking at all, Vash is gonna call that an improvement. “Wolfwood!” Crouching over the other man, Vash watches as he slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position. Wolfwood blinks hazily a few times, then Vash sees his eyes bug out in alarm. Gasping, Wolfwood gawks down at himself, pawing stupidly at his middle.

“What—Where’s the—“ Wolfwood pries a hand down the front of his shirt, feeling at the skin. For a few seconds, he keeps it up, fingers running over what Vash can only guess is all the new scar tissue, right where his wound used to be. “I was… N-Needleno— _Vash_. Vash, I was _bleeding to death._ I blacked out, saw the pearly gates and everything.” He heaves himself forward, inching over to Vash and gripping his shoulder harshly. “What the hell _happened?”_

“Yeah, heh… About that.” Vash laughs, shrugging weakly and scratching at the back of his head. “Thing is, I’m not exactly sure.”

“Are you listening to me?” Wolfwood sounds like he might start hyperventilating soon, and that can’t be good, right? He’s probably still recovering! “I’ve got good reason to believe I just came back to _life_. In my line of work, we call that a ‘second coming’, and it’s not exactly an everyday thing.” Groping at his temple like he’s got a headache coming on, Wolfwood mumbles, “This isn’t hell, is it? I mean, you wouldn’t be there, but I never thought I’d get into heaven, either. Guess that makes it purgatory.”

“Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine,” groused Vash. Guy didn’t have a real high opinion of himself, did he? “You’re not dead, all right?”

“Not dead?” Wolfwood lifted his head to gawk at Vash. “Then what the hell happened to the goddamn hole in my chest? I know I felt it happen, so don’t try any of that, ‘it was all a dream’ crap.”

“Hey, I know this is weird!” Vash admits. “But shouldn’t you be—I dunno—happy, or something? You’re okay now. I mean, you’re still alive! That’s good, right?”

“Good? I’m still trying to get used to not being dead, I can’t focus on how _good_ I feel right n—“ Wolfwood cuts himself off, squinting dumbly. “Wait a minute, wait—h-how long was I out? What’s with the hair?”

“Huh?” Vash furrows his brow in confusion, following Wolfwood’s finger when he points to their reflection in one of the tinted church windows. Frowning, he watches himself, then turns his head slightly, to see— “ _GAAAHH!”_ The whole back of his head’s pitch black! Pawing at his hair dumbly, he whimpers under his breath. Okay, sure, most of what he’s doing are goofy theatrics, but a part of him really is freaked out! He’s got no idea where that came from, or when it happened.

“Okay, okay. Reign it in, broom-head.” Wolfwood takes a massive breath, motioning for Vash to follow suit. “There’s something real messed up about me being the one who has to calm _you_ down in this situation.” After a few more inhales and exhales, Wolfwood clears his throat, then hesitantly gets to his feet, like he’s not sure if he’s strong enough to stay upright. Looks like he is, though, because he stays standing, and even starts fishing around in his jacket so he can pull out a crumpled cigarette.

“Really?” Vash whines. Wolfwood’s gonna undo all of Vash’s hard work, just like that?

“Put a sock in it,” grumbles Wolfwood. “I’ve earned this one. It’s been a long day.” Lighting the end, he takes a slow, deep drag, acting like it’s easier to breathe through the filter than is to breathe air. “All right. Last thing I remember, Chapel got me. Right here.” He ghosts his hand over the spot in a way that makes Vash wonder if it still hurts, or if Wolfwood’s fingers are shaking because he’s trying not to panic. “I made it back in here, fell down in front of—“ He points to the cross, then swallows loud enough for Vash to hear it when he sees the giant puddle of blood. “Right there. Passed out from blood loss. You must’ve found me at some point. When was that?”

Vash balls his hands into fists, trying not to picture any of that too clearly. “About an hour ago.”

“And I was still out?”

Vash nods. “Yeah.”

The cigarette’s already down to half its original size. Wolfwood takes it out of his mouth and shakes the ashes loose. “Then what?”

“Heh, well…” Vash smiles weakly, standing and jamming his hands into his pockets. “That part’s a little fuzzy for me, too. I’m not completely sure what happened.”

“All right,” snaps Wolfwood. “Then gimme your _best guess.”_

“Well,” Vash begins slowly, “I found you. And I wasn’t sure if you were dead yet, so I turned you over and… “ Just remembering this much is making Vash’s throat feel uncomfortably tight, but he shoves his discomfort way down into the pit of his stomach. “You were. Definitely dead, I-I mean. Then… I, uh... I’m not really sure why I did it, but I touched your wound, and it was like…” Like when he and Knives figured out to operate the ship’s power sectors way back when, or when Rem taught them to cross-breed the flowers in the conservatory. It wasn’t like he was learning how to do it, it was more like he was remembering something he already knew. “Instinct, I guess. Somehow, I could close it. And fix you up. I think… “ He glances back at his reflection and grimaces. Man, that hair looks so _tacky!_ But he gestures to the black half anyway, explaining, “I think I might’ve given you some of my life… energy?”

Is that crazy? All Vash can do is guess; it’s not like he’s done this kind of thing before. Somehow, he knew he could heal _himself_ —maybe Knives told him, maybe he just had that knowledge locked away in the back of his head, but it isn’t like he ever did it! And it isn’t like he would’ve known how it worked. It’s kind of embarrassing, how little Vash knows about his own… _people_ , he guesses, but he hasn’t exactly bothered to do the research. Maybe the idea of doing that made him feel too much like his brother. “I mean, if it was some kinda energy exchange, I guess that’d explain this.” He stands and flicks Wolfwood’s bangs off his forehead, and the other man starts, stumbling back. Vash motions for Wolfwood to look over at the window and Wolfwood frowns, glancing at his reflection, too.

“Ugh, _what?”_ He touches the white-blond streak in his hair bleakly, then groans and throws his head back. “Great.”

“So.” Vash stretches a bit, then starts trying to wipe the blood stains off his coat in a way that Wolfwood won’t notice. “What now?”

“What now?” echoes Wolfwood, turning to give Vash an exhausted look. “ _Now_ , I need a damn _drink.”_

* * *

Vash isn’t sure he’s capable of being surprised anymore, but this?

This _did_ throw him for a loop. Knives was lying here, just a few minutes ago, cursing him out and clutching his own arm. He kept dragging himself further away each time Vash tried to get closer. At first, Vash thought it was just the suns hitting the highest point in the sky, but then he realized Knives was glowing. Glowing brighter than Vash had ever seen him, even when they’d been firing their Angel Arms at each other at full strength. He had to look away, barely making out his form becoming twisted, stretching and growing and spreading before the light started fading. And now?

Now there’s only a tree where he was.

Or maybe saying ‘ _he’s_ a tree’ would be a little more accurate. A tall tree, with narrow limbs and a sandy white trunk. It’s in full bloom, cream-colored flowers waving in the breeze, and Vash watches them move against the bright blue sky, wondering if maybe he’s gone crazy.

A part of him—and it’s a _real_ small part—is terrified. He has no idea what he just witnessed, and he isn’t sure if Knives saw it coming, either. If his brother knew this was about to happen, he seemed so scared of what was coming. Is Vash next? Is this going to happen to him, too? He doesn’t know, but the more he thinks about it, he’s not really sure he minds.

Vash is still so full of energy, enough that it feels like he should be shaking. But when he lifts an arm and calmly places his palm against the bark of the tree, his hand is still. Sighing, he listens to the wind and the rustling of leaves and closes his eyes. A long time passes—maybe it’s an hour, maybe it’s more—but Vash doesn’t fall to the ground and start growing branches. Instead, he turns on his heel and leans down to grab his bag before turning back towards town. There’s no need to say goodbye—he knows he’ll be back soon.

“Well?” Wolfwood’s halfway through a bottle of liquor by the time Vash makes it there. “Did you take care of it?” The guy looks a little irritated that Vash talked him into staying behind, but Vash definitely doesn’t regret that decision. He’s done with letting people die on his watch, and he doesn’t want to try his new party trick a second time.

Laughing emptily, Vash shrugs. “Something like that.”

The look on Wolfwood’s face gets a little harsher, and he lowers his voice. “So? What happened?”

Vash smiles. “I gotta be honest—I’m not really sure.” He reaches over and nabs Wolfwood’s glass, taking a long sip. “But I think I helped him find peace.”

“Needlenoggin,” grumbles Wolfood, “you’re one cryptic son of a bitch.”

Vash laughs again, and orders himself a drink. He and Wolfwood take a few more shots, at least until Vash himself feels kind of fuzzy-headed and warm. But he still has his wits about him when he steps out of the bar. There’s a crowd of townsfolk at the center of the city, and Vash realizes that Millie and Meryl must have gotten the well working again. He waves to them as he heads out, trying to act like he can’t see the look on Meryl’s face when he leaves.


	2. Aloe Vera

“Hey, Meryl?” Vash knocks on the door, leaning forward to listen for any movement on the other side.

He hears tiny feet stomping around before Meryl shouts, muffled, back at him. “I’m not talking to you!”

“Well, gee—“ Vash laughs quietly, leaning against the door. “Call me crazy, but I _kinda_ feel like you answering me counts as talking.”

Meryl doesn’t respond at first, but after a few seconds of silence, Vash hears the doorknob click. He jumps aside when the door swings open, and Meryl pokes her head out, glaring up at him. “Will you knock it off, already? I’m still mad at you.”

“What? Seriously?” Vash rolls his eyes. “Pff. You’re holding a grudge over nothing! I travel all the time—I thought you were used to it.” Well, apparently not. Still. “Besides, I knew we’d run into each other again.”

“You did, huh? Well, _I_ didn’t.” Meryl sighs, crossing her arms and staring down the hall. “I thought you might’ve wandered out into the desert to _die_ or something.” Her brow furrows and she snaps, “But then I remembered how hard to kill you are, so I figured you left because you didn’t want to see me again. I mean—“ Groaning, she covers her face. “Us! See us.”

“Meryl…” Vash swallows, the guilt sinking down into the pit of his stomach and settling there. He wants to pretend like he didn’t know what he was doing, or how it’d make her feel, but he can’t—even if he tried to fake being too stupid to understand, Meryl would see through that in a heartbeat. She’s gotten to know him too well. They all have. “I guess… “ Shaking his head sadly, Vash ventures, “It just feels strange staying in one place. I’ve had Knives looking for me, plus that bounty on my head, for so many years, I keep forgetting I don’t have to… Y’know.” Shrugging, he mumbles, “Run from anything.”

“You’re such a…” Meryl huffs, then throws her arms up in defeat. “Forget it. I’m still trying to finish up this report about the Gung-Ho guns.” She kneads at her temple with both hands. “My supervisor keeps writing me back, asking for more details, and more _witness accounts_. He thinks I’m making everything up!” Dropping her hands, she glowers up at him again. “It’s a huge pain, and I want to get it out of the way, so whatever’s bothering you, it’d better be _real_ important.”

“Y-You know what?” Vash waves his hand limply, grinning nervously. Man, he forgets how scary Meryl can be! Especially for somebody who’s barely five feet out of heels. “It’s not bothering me that much! Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, you already completely blew up my train of thought.” Meryl heaves an enormous sigh, then steps aside and gestures for Vash to step into her room. “Might as well come in.”

“Hey, thanks, Meryl!” Vash bends down to give her a hug, but Meryl holds up one hand, stopping him.

She points towards the couch, trying to get Vash to sit down. Once he obeys, she demands, “So, what’s the problem?”

“Uh… A few different things, actually.” Vash scratches at the back of his head, slumping so that he slips down the couch a few inches. He would’ve asked Wolfwood about all this, but somehow, he felt like one of the girls would know more than him. “I keep waking up really sick to my stomach, like I’m hungover, but I haven’t had a drink in months! Plus my body aches everywhere, even when I haven’t gotten in any fights, or shoot outs—and my skin feels itchy! Mostly it’s—It’s like, right around here.” He moves his hand around just over his bellybutton, frowning. When he glances up, Meryl looks unimpressed, so he hurriedly adds, “And there’s one other thing.” It’s kind of the reason Vash has been worried at all. “It’s… pretty freaky.”

“Oh?” Meryl gestures for him to continue—or maybe she’s trying to tell him to hurry up. It’s probably the second one. “Freakier than that angel arm thing?”

“Uh.” Hm. She has a point. “N-Not really, but it’s still…” It’s still strange. “There’s this green stuff coming out of my chest.” He doesn’t mean blood, either. Meryl’s seen him bleeding, too—she knows his blood is red, and that most of his body acts like a human’s would. So blood wouldn’t surprise him. But Vash has never seen a human body do this. “It’s.. “ Frowning, he stands up, starting to undo his coat. “Here, just—just look!”

“Vash!” Meryl makes a scandalized noise as he starts to pull his coat off, arms flailing before she grabs at her face and covers her eyes. “What are you _doing!?”_

“It’s nothing creepy, I swear!” Well, actually—“I mean, it _is_ weird, but don’t take it the wrong way.”

“ _Whatever_ it is, you need to go to a doctor instead of flashing m—“ Meryl peeks between her fingers as Vash peels off his undershirt. “What? You look fine.” Narrowing her eyes, she walks over to him, scrutinizing the metal grate over his old wound. “I mean, not _fine_ , but… normal. For you.”

“It’s not that side,” Vash insists. “Here. Sometimes I can kinda make it…” He presses his fingers into the skin. Sure enough, a bit of some thick, green substance squeezes out of his chest. Meryl takes one look, then screams like she’s been burned.

“ _EW!_ Vash!” She rushes to shield her face again. “ _What is that!?”_

“That’s what I’m asking you!” Vash grimaces, starting to worry for real. There are plenty of things he never knew humans did, or experienced. Ways he never knew he was different. If everybody on the planet does something, why would you bother talking about it? Everyone else already knows! But Vash doesn’t always know. He’s the same as humans are a _lot_ of ways, but not every way. When he and Knives were little, they were surprised the rest of the crew couldn’t survive for days on end drinking nothing but sugary beverages. Vash was just… _really_ hoping this was normal. Maybe a little gross, and weird, and not _common_ , but technically normal! But, judging by Meryl’s reaction, it’s not.

“Just put your shirt back on!” Meryl acts like she couldn’t turn around if she tried (at least, not until Vash covers himself), before she takes a deep breath and turns to face him like nothing happened. “That was…” Holding her chin, Meryl stares down at the floor for a moment before speaking up again. “Whatever that was, it definitely isn’t normal. For… guys.”

“For guys?” What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Meryl mumbles like she doesn’t even hear him, pacing back and forth as she trails off. “Or for… girls, actually. Mostly. Whatever that stuff is, it doesn’t look like m… ” Stopping suddenly, she makes a horrified face. “Y-You said you felt sick, right? Maybe you’re rotting from the inside, and that’s just where the _pus_ happened to come out—“

“ _Eugh!”_ Vash clamps a hand over his mouth, flinching in disgust. “You think it’s _pus?”_ Vash isn’t sure if he’s ever had a wound that bad before—at least, he never let them get that infected. And he’s had _real_ bad ones, sure, but they always seem to heal up just fine in the end.

“I don’t know!” Meryl walks over to him, motioning for him to lower his head so she can feel at his forehead. “Huh. Not sure, but I don’t think you have a fever. You feel okay. But you should definitely go to the doctor.”

“So this… isn’t normal? At all?” Vash swallows, then adds in a whisper, “For anyone?”

“I have no idea,” Meryl admits, then furrows her brow. “I’ve never seen it before… But maybe it is normal, for… You know.”

Vash frowns, finishing her sentence after she pauses. “Plants.”

Meryl nods absently. “There’s still so much about independent plants we don’t really understand.” She gives Vash a dry look, adding, “And, for the record, you’re part of that ‘we’.”

Laughing weakly, Vash curls into himself. “Ouch! That’s harsh.”

“But true,” counters Meryl. “Too bad there’s no such thing as a plant doctor.” Bristling, she snaps, “And don’t even _think_ about hiring that Elizabeth woman to take a look at you.”

Vash takes one look at Meryl’s expression, then cowers and lets out an extremely high-pitched laugh. “Whaaat? No! No, no, _never—_ I’d never dream of doing something like that!” Jeeze! When is Meryl going to realize all of that was just an act? “Besides—I have somebody else in mind.”

* * *

“You sure it’s a good idea?” Vash watches as Wolfwood tries to straighten out his cigarette with limited success before he lights it. “Those folks didn’t seem too happy with you the last time we saw ‘em.”

“It’ll be okay!” Vash insists. Sure, he knows it must be hard to adapt to being on the planet’s surface after living in the comfort of a ship for all your life, but it’s the end of the world. After all, Vash went through that exact same thing when he was a kid. “Those people are some of my oldest friends. They aren’t the type to hold a grudge.” Vash has turned to them for help under much worse circumstances.

“All right.” Wolfwood pauses to take a long drag, then mumbles, “If you’re serious about this, I wanna come.”

“Really?” Vash can’t help but light up. It’s been so long since he and Wolfwood got to do anything together. The last time he left, Wolfwood stayed put. Maybe Vash should have, too—then Meryl wouldn’t be so mad at him.

“Don’t give me that look.” Wolfwood snorts. “This isn’t some stupid camping trip. You’re gonna see that professor guy, right?” Vash nods and Wolfwood points at his hair. “Good. I wanna find out what the hell it is you did to me.”

“Hey, it doesn’t look that bad,” Vash insists. “If it’s really bugging you, just dye it.”

“It’s not about the hair, dumbass!” Poking him sharply in the chest, Wolfwood explains, “I can’t sleep through the night anymore! I’m so full of energy I feel like I’m _wired_ , and I crave sugar _constantly.”_ He paws at his face with a groan. “At first, I figured I was just being paranoid, but even Millie’s started to notice. I get up five times a night just to stretch my legs.”

For a moment, Vash doesn’t get it (why would Millie know about that?), but then he remembers. Ever since they got back to town after the… _Knives_ incident, Wolfwood and Millie have been together. All the time! They’re only apart when Wolfwood’s taking odd jobs, and Millie’s working with Meryl. It makes Vash sad, in a way—he feels like this romance popped up out of nowhere! Everybody else keeps changing so fast, and Vash feels like he’s been left in the dust. “Well,” he says at last, “if you’re sure Millie won’t cry every night over how much she misses you, then you’re welcome to come.”

“Right,” mutters Wolfwood. “Like you’ve never made a girl cry.”

Vash cups his chin, giving Wolfwood the most seductive look he can muster. “Only because of my otherworldly _beauty.”_

Wolfwood just stares at him for a second, then blows a mouthful of smoke in his face.


	3. Stargazing

“You know, it’s funny,” Vash muses, hiking his bag up a little higher. Sure, it’s heavy, but he feels completely naked if he leaves town without it. Besides, Vash still feels pretty fresh, despite the fact that they’ve been walking almost all day. “Something about this feels… off.”

“Yeah?” Wolfwood grumbles. “How so?”

“Shouldn’t we have started off with me finding you on the side of the road, dying of thirst?” Chuckling, Vash elbows Wolfwood teasingly, then grins when the other man just sidles away from him. “Guess city life really helped get your act together.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it, and you know it.” Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, Wolfwood lights it in the grumpiest way possible. “I haven’t had a drink in three days and I feel great. And I’m talking about _water_ , Needlenoggin. Not booze. I mean—hell, not _either._ Haven’t been thirsty at all. I don’t think I’ve even broken a sweat.”

“Are you seriously complaining about that?” Vash throws his head back and groans. “It’s like I did you this huge favor, and you don’t even appreciate it.”

“That wasn’t a favor!” Jabbing him in the chest harshly (which hurts a lot more than it should), Wolfwood waits until Vash starts looking at him before he goes on. “That was some weird, plant voodoo bullshit, and you didn’t even plan it! For all I know, all these are signs that my body’s about to give out on me.” Tearing the cigarette out of his mouth, Wolfwood tosses it aside and coughs weakly into his hand. “Can’t even have a smoke anymore. It’s like back when I first started.”

Like his lungs are brand new. At least, that’s Vash’s guess. He knows he must have changed Wolfwood’s body to repair it, but has no idea how much of it is different, or fixed up. Either way, there’s a good chance he isn’t used to all that tobacco anymore. “So, are you finally gonna quit?”

“Hell no.” It’s like he forgot what happened ten seconds ago—Wolfwood’s already got another cigarette between his lips. He just holds it there for a second this time, not lighting it right away. “Look. I don’t give a damn about any of this, as long as it isn’t turning me into some kind of monster.” Wolfwood’s voice sounds strained when he says the last bit. Honestly, it makes Vash’s heart squeeze into some tight, knotted little thing. “I _died_ thinking I’d never see her again. I… I just want to get this over with so I can go back.”

“I know.” Okay, Vash officially feels terrible. Lately, he feels like he keeps making all these mistakes, without knowing he’s made them until they turn around to bite him in the ass. The worst part is, they all seem to have something to do with Wolfwood. Gritting his teeth together, Vash picks up the pace, pointing out over the horizon. “Farneel’s about ten iles that way. We can stop for the night, and after that, I know a cab driver there who can take us out east.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sounds great. I can’t wait to be packed into the back of a metal death-trap with some sweaty creep driving us waaaay out into the desert.” It’s weird—normally, after walking all day, Wolfwood would sound winded. But today, he brushes past Vash like they just started out. Maybe he hasn’t been exaggerating his side-effects as much as Vash thought. Still, only Wolfwood would find a way to complain about gaining superhuman abilities. “You better chip in for a motel.”

The suns are starting to set as they get into town, and Vash can’t help noticing how much more crowded it is than usual. This place is only big enough for two inns, and the first one they try is completely booked. At least the woman at the counter of the second one seems friendly enough, ushering them in with a smile on her face when they open the door.

“You two have great timing!” She pulls out a piece of paper, tapping at it with a pen. “I’ve got one room left.” Vash walks over to her and takes the pen, signing a borderline-illegible signature before reaching into his bag to fish some money out. “You two here to stargaze?”

“Uh. No.” Wolfwood clears his throat, glancing around like a caged animal. “Why’s this place so packed, anyway?”

“Oh, it’s that time of year where that trail of stars in the north gets real bright.” The woman snatches the money out of Vash’s hand before he has time to count it, thumbing through the bills with a much harsher look on her face. “Has something to do with that old story about two lovers, separated for the whole year, except for tonight. Anyway, you can see it real good from here. Only time a year we get to use our ‘no vacancy’ sign.”

“Yeah… We’re, uh…” Vash shrugs, deciding not to ask for his change back. “Like he said: we’re not here for that.”

“Hm.” The woman sizes them up, then shrugs. “My mistake.” She passes Vash a key and settles back into her seat, gesturing to the hall behind them. “Room’s the second to last on the left. There’s gonna be an awful lot of celebrating around here, so we can’t do a whole lot about the noise. Have a good night.”

“Thanks.” Wolfwood gives Vash a look telling him to hurry up before he starts down the hall. Vash sighs and follows him, unlocking the door and looking inside. Wolfwood slaps a palm against his forehead and groans. “You gotta be kidding me.”

The room’s tiny, smells like dust and aging plaster. And, most importantly, it only has one bed. After a minute of staring—and wondering about how much money he just wasted—Vash opens his mouth to speak. Before he can, Wolfwood cuts him off.

“I’ll take the floor.”

“What?” Vash bristles. “Come on, don’t be like that! At least let me ask for a spare cot or something.”

“Are you kidding?” Scoffing, Wolfwood pushes past him into the room, leaning over to squint at a mildew stain on the wall. “Even somebody as naïve as you has to know what a _dump_ this is. They won’t have anything like that. Besides, you’re the one that’s sick.” He straightens up and gives Vash a quizzical look. “Well, _allegedly_.”

“I am sick!” Vash whines, then shakes his head. “I mean, I might be. But I still feel fine. You’re the one who’s…” Suddenly half-plant? Totally freaking out? This close to having nervous breakdown? “You know. _You_ should take the bed.”

“Too late.” Wolfwood grabs a pillow and throws it on the ground, easing down onto the floor and sprawling out on his back. “Just use it, Needlenoggin. Try taking it easy for once in your life.”

Rolling his eyes, Vash picks up the other pillow, setting it down against the opposite wall before lying across from Wolfwood. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Even if he did get on that bed, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’d just be thinking the whole time about how uncomfortable Wolfwood was. Or, is. (Or maybe about bedbugs. That bed does not look… clean _.)_ Either way, he might as well make it fair for the two of them.

Wolfwood doesn’t really react to Vash calling his bluff, and before too long, despite how rock-hard the floor feels, Vash is drifting off. Still, just before he passes out, he swears he hears Wolfwood mutter ‘idiot’ under his breath.

When he wakes up, Vash already knows he’s been sleeping for too long. He’s got that funny, foggy-headed sensation, and for a moment or two, he has no idea where he is. Then, it hits him—he’s in a motel. Wait, that’s not the weird part. Groaning, he paws at the mattress, and…

Oh. He’s on the bed. Grimacing, he sits up and slides off the mattress, getting to his feet so he can stretch. He must’ve started sleep-walking, and gotten onto the mattress. Knowing Wolfwood, he’s probably going to give Vash hell about it. Except, when Vash glances around, Wolfwood isn’t in the room. His stuff is still on the floor, though, and when Vash gets up to open the door, he almost runs into the other man.

“Hey!” Wolfwood sounds a lot more excited than he did yesterday—he’s even smirking. “You’ll never guess what happened.”

Vash blinks, then smirks back. “You finally bought a razor?”

“Oh, _ha.”_ Darting past Vash, Wolfwood grabs his bag, slinging it over his and trying to fit it up against the Punisher. “Come on, will you? I just _‘shaved’_ three days off our trip.”

Vash grimaces at that joke, then prompts, “Yeah?” Wolfwood gestures for Vash to follow him out, so Vash gathers his things and hurries after him. Leading the way down the hall, Wolfwood walks over to the front door of the hotel, holding it open so Vash can see what’s on the other side.

“Can you believe it?” Wolfwood lets Vash take the door, scrambling over to a dark red motorcycle blocking the entrance and slinging one leg over it.

“Whuh—where’d you get that thing?” Last Vash heard, Wolfwood scrapped his old one for parts. Said he didn’t need it if he was gonna settle down in Bernardelli.

“I got up early, since something told me you’d be sleeping in.” Wolfwood pulls a cigarette out of his jacket and tries to talk around it while he lights the end. This time, he manages to inhale without coughing. “Anyway, I was walking around town, and I saw this sweaty, shady-looking bastard in a white suit. So I put on the old confessional shtick. I went up to him all, ‘The lord’s not happy with you. He knows what you’ve been up to, and he doesn’t approve. But he says you can save your soul if you just confess!’” He pats the bag where he keeps that ridiculous miniature church, chuckling, “So I pulled this baby out and stuck it on his head. Man, was he pissed! But I kept prying, kinda guessing at different things. Finally, I mentioned something about a mistress, and an age gap—it was like I flipped a switch! He turned into a nervous wreck, and I couldn’t get him to shut up! Charged him five double-dollars for every confession. That, plus the money we had saved for the rest of the trip, was juuuust enough to cover this baby.”

“The rest of—are you _kidding_ me!?” Vash’s voice cracks as he yelps, “You spent all our money? On a stupid _bike?_ We needed that!” _”_

“Come on, Needlenoggin!” Wolfwood starts the bike up, revving the engine a few times before shouting over the noise. “We’ll be back home by nightfall! It’ll be fine!”

“So what!” Vash shouts. “I had a cab driver with a perfectly working car! He was gonna take us almost all the way out there—you have no idea where this thing came from, or whether it’s a piece of garbage that’ll break down five siles out of town.” Wolfwood just cups a hand around his ear, like he can’t hear any of what Vash just said. Leaning back dramatically, Vash sighs, then stomps around to the other side. “… There’s no sidecar.”

“Just get on already!” Wolfwood yells.

Grimacing, Vash glances around, trying to ignore the way the only person on the street—some decrepit old man—looks at them like they’re crazy. “Fffffffine.” He winces like he’s getting onto a giant pile of backed up sewage, then sits down slowly, just behind Wolfwood. Trying to make sure there’s a gap between them, Vash grits his teeth and leans back with a shudder. “Ugh. Why couldn’t you be a pretty girl?”

“Funny,” Wolfwood notes, “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

He starts the bike, and they go lurching forward so fast, Vash has to grab onto the rim of the seat just to keep from flying off. They’re out of town in less than a minute, and once nobody’s looking, Vash reluctantly reaches forward and grabs onto Wolfwood’s shoulders.

Wolfwood laughs over the din of the engine, saying, “Hey, as long as it’s not my waist.” Grimacing uncomfortably, Vash stays quiet until Wolfwood pipes up again. “We still going the right way?”

Vash looks up, checking the angle of the suns, then nods and shouts, “Yep!”

“And you’re sure this is where that floating city crashed?” asks Wolfwood.

“Positive.”

“What makes you think those people are still gonna be there?” Vash isn’t sure. Kind of why he was hoping to save a little bit more money. He didn’t exactly tell Wolfwood how long this trip was going to take, since he didn’t really know. Part of him expected to spend at least a day or two just searching.

“Call it a hunch,” Vash answers after a long pause. 

“Better be a damn good one,” grumbles Wolfwood, and that’s the last thing either of them says for a while.

Vash makes Wolfwood park the bike after a few hours have passed, and they both hike for another ile or two. Hopefully, far enough to stay inconspicuous. After all the trouble Vash put them through last time, he thinks the least he could do is try not to draw another assassin to their city. They find their way to an empty valley, with sheer cliffs on all sides, and a heavy dust cloud blocking out the suns.

Scratching his head, Wolfwood kicks at the sand, then cranes his neck back to stare up at the sky. “This is it, isn’t it?” Frowning, he tosses his cigarette aside. “Doesn’t look like anything’s passed through here in years.”

He’s right, but this is definitely where the ship crashed. Not that you’d be able to tell—Vash doesn’t even see a glimmer of metal or broken glass in the ground. He squints, looking around the landscape before frowning and taking a few steps towards… something. Vash isn’t sure what it is he’s looking at, but after more than a century of running around like a lunatic, he’s learned to trust his gut. And right now, his gut’s saying… ‘look at that thing!’

“What now?” Vash can hear this bristly sound as Wolfwood scratches his chin thoughtfully behind him. “If they were still here—well, still here, and not pissed off at you—they’d have sent one of those hovercraft things to come get you. Right?” Wolfwood raises his voice a little, like he can tell he doesn’t have Vash’s full attention.

Vash only half-listens what Wolfwood says, instead walking briskly towards the nearest cliff and gesturing for Wolfwood to follow. “Come on.”

Wolfwood sighs, then stomps after him, muttering, “Lead the way, Fido.”

Choosing to ignore that, Vash presses right up against the cliff, running his fingers along the smooth surface before making a small noise in surprise. “It’s not rock. This is metal!” Peeling his glove off, he puts his bare skin against the cliff again, looking for some kind of crevice or switch. But before he can spend too much time trying to find one, there’s a quiet beep and a loud whirr. Vash stumbles back as the rocky surface pushes out, then splits in half, opening wide to reveal an empty, metal chamber. After a second of staring at it, Vash realizes it’s an elevator.

“Well, would you look at that.” Laughing, Wolfwood claps a hand on Vash’s shoulder, giving him a teasing shove. “After you.”

Vash hesitates again—what if his ‘relatives’ didn’t make this? What if it’s some abandoned facility from a hundred years ago? Or, if those people created this, after everything they went through the last time Vash was here, would they really want to see him again?

Wolfwood snaps him out of it, giving his back another push. “ _Today_ , Needlenoggin. I want answers.”

That’s right. This isn’t just about him anymore, is it? These people aren’t his only friends, and right now, Vash owes another friend a favor. Shaking his head, Vash grins as wide as he can, darting into the elevator. “Sorry! Guess I was just daydreaming.”

Grumbling, Wolfwood shakes his head, skulking in after him. “Would you knock it off already? You know that ‘happy-go-lucky moron’ routine doesn’t work on me.”

“Yeah, I know.” Vash still thinks about that ‘fake smile’ line Wolfwood said when they first met. “It never did.”


	4. Like a Lizard

The doors of the elevator slam shut with a menacing clang, and both Vash and Wolfwood jump.

“You _positive_ this is the right place?” Wolfwood cups his chin, craning his neck back to stare up at the dim, flickering lights. Vash recognizes them as the kind of lights they used to put under cabinets in the labs on board; apparently, they found a way to repurpose a lot of the ship parts. Even this elevator, from the inside, reminds Vash of the landing shuttle he’d have to use to get up to the old vessel. “Sure was a hell of a lot easier to get in this time.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Vash leans forward and grins at Wolfwood, then clasps his hands and rubs his cheek against them romantically. “They’ve gotten so trusting! They’re finally feeling the love and affection—all the _goodness_ and _generosity_ —that the people on the surface have to offer!”

Wolfwood gives him a blank stare, then reaches over and flicks him really hard on the end of his nose.

_“OW!”_ Vash clamps his hands over his face, moaning and shaking his head. “C-Can’t you be optimistic for once in your life?”

“No,” Wolfwood snaps. “Mostly because I’m not a damn moron. I mean, did you ever stop to think about how maybe, just _maybe_ , if you’d stop treating everyone you meet like a saint, you might not get the crap kicked out of you on a daily basis?”

“Yeah, but if I expected people to be jerks, then I—“ Huffing, Vash clutches his chest like his heart’s breaking, even though the gesture kind of makes that spot hurt. “—I just wouldn’t have the strength to go on!”

Wolfwood’s silent for a second, then he grabs Vash roughly around the neck, pulling him down for a noogie. Okay, that actually _does_ hurt. “OW! Ow! _Gck!_ QUIT IT!” He flails as much as he can with Wolfwood yanking him down, but that just makes him feel like he’s choking! Then, suddenly, the elevator stops with a huge ‘clunk’, sending both of them wobbling and forcing Wolfwood to let go of him. “I guess we’re here.”

Frowning, Wolfwood jams his hands in his pockets and slouches. Vash frowns, too, glancing around before staring at the door. Which… isn’t opening. He jumps when Wolfwood reaches out and knocks loudly, wincing and covering his ears as the clanging echoes around the chamber. “HELLO! Anybody out there?”

Yanking Wolfwood’s hand away, Vash forces him to stop. “Quit it!” Swallowing nervously, he leans forward and examines the door a little more closely. There’s a small hatch, which Vash manages to finagle open, and inside is a button and a speaker. Brow furrowing, Vash presses the button, talking into it. “Uh… Hello? It’s Vash! And, uh… Wolfwood.” 

There’s no answer—just the crackling of static.

“Great. Just _great_. I’ll tell you what happened!” Wolfwood leans against the wall of the elevator as he starts pawing around inside his jacket. “You think those people want anything to do with us after what happened? After we ruined their precious, floating paradise? If they’re still here, we just walked right into their trap! They’re gonna start pouring poisonous gas through the vents, or maybe they’ve got a whole firing squad waiting outside.”

“They’d never do anything like that!” Vash is scandalized by the whole idea. These are good people! Sure, they might be upset with him—and Vash would _definitely_ understand that—but they don’t hate him. At least…

Damn. Well, he really hopes they don’t.

Yanking a cigarette free, Wolfwood shoves it in his mouth, then pulls the Punisher off his back, starting to aim it at the door. “Step back. We’ll just have to blast our way out of here.”

“Are you crazy?” Vash yelps, shoving the barrel of the gun down. “At least give it five more minutes.” Wolfwood growls under his breath, trying again to point the Punisher upwards, and before long, they’re both wrestling over it. “What h-happened… to patience… being a…. _virtue!?”_

“That doesn’t apply when you’re stuck in a death-trap with a useless pacifist. What are you scared of? Hurting the _architecture?_ ” Wolfwood yanks one last time, pulling the Punisher out of Vash’s grip before reluctantly setting it down on the ground. Grunting moodily, he fishes a match out of his pocket.

Wrinkling his nose, Vash grumbles, “You better not start smoking in here.”

“I’ll do whatever I want,” snaps Wolfwood. “This is gonna be our coffin, after all.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Mr. Wolfwood,” a voice rings out, tinny and slightly-muffled, and Vash jumps, bending towards the speaker again.

“Doc? That you?”

“Yes! I’m quite impressed that you managed to find us…” The door beeps and slowly slides open, revealing the old professor, who’s standing just beyond the elevator at the start of a long, dim hallway. “Er—impressed, I suppose, but not surprised.” He gestures for Vash and Wolfwood to follow him as he turns and starts walking. “To what do we owe this visit, Vash? Normally you stop by every _decade_ , not every year.”

“Eheheheh!” Vash lets out a pitchy laugh, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Well, you know me! I’m a man of the people, after all.” He didn’t expect this to be exactly like the ship, but he doesn’t see any doors, or anything that might indicate a living space. Just a long tunnel carved out of stone, with a string of minimal lights across the ceiling. “Speaking of which, where is everybody?”

“Oh, they’re deeper inside the cliff face. After that whole Puppet Master fiasco, we decided that having the lodgings so close to the entrance wasn’t safe.” Finally, they make it to the end of the hall, which houses a massive, metal door. The doc starts typing in a long access code, then steps aside for Vash and Wolfwood to enter as the door swings open. “So, Vash—what can I do for you? Do you need a tune up? Want to take a break from it all? Or are you just checking up on us?”

Vash swallows tightly. None of the above, really—boy, does that ever make him sound like a complete jerk. It’s so easy to forget how much time passes for humans, but Vash can’t believe it’s already been a year. It’s not that Vash means to ditch people for so long, it’s just that… Well, the time kind of _flies by_ from his end.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t hear Wolfwood at first. “Well?”

“Uh—what?” Vash smiles uncomfortably. “Sorry! I must have sand in my ears.”

“I said,” Wolfwood states, “aren’t you gonna answer the old man?”

“Huh?” Oh, right. He asked Vash why he was here. “Actually, doc, I…” Vash glances back at Wolfwood helplessly, then goes on. “ _We_ both had a few questions.” The professor shuts the door behind them and then walks ahead, leading them through another short hall; this time, it’s a lot smoother, and there are more ship lights built right into the ceiling. It ends with three more doorways, and the professor turns towards the one on the left, pulling back a clear plastic, curtain and gesturing for Vash and Wolfwood to enter. “Well, come on, then. We can discuss things in my lab.”

Vash follows Wolfwood into the tiny, dim room, which, honestly, looks like they ripped the professor’s old lab straight out of the spaceship, then tried to reassemble it without the blueprints. “As you’ve just seen, we’ve done quite a lot of work in very little time. We carved out an entire system of tunnels in less than a year. There’s still work to be done, of course, and most of the more impressive structures are deeper inside. We can see those later, if you’d like. Much of the damaged ship went into these tunnels, as well as elevators and transit systems, and of course, my laboratory.” Vash looks around the tiny space, and has to admit, even though the layout’s totally different from what he remembers, it still feels familiar. “Once a week, we send out a convoy to the nearest town and trade for food, water, clothing...” The doc pushes a few hanging wires aside and eases down into a well-worn desk chair, gesturing for Vash and Wolfwood to take a seat across from him. Vash obliges, dropping onto one of the small stools, but Wolfwood stands, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “The generator I rigged up is powerful enough to provide electricity for this entire complex, but it’s not a perfect substitute for a plant. We have to manufacture gasoline—our lifestyle hasn’t had to change too drastically, although everyone’s had to pitch in and work a little harder.”

“That’s good.” Vash nods, trying to pretend like a massive weight hasn’t been lifted off his shoulders. “I’m… I’m sorry. A-About everything that happened last time I... last time I was here.” It feels like he should be standing up on a podium, apologizing to the whole ship, but honestly, he’s not sure he could take it.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” The professor scoffs. “It would’ve happened someday. We’re just lucky so few people were hurt.” Leaning back, he folds his arms over his stomach and gives them both an inquisitive look. “So… You said the two of you had questions.” He pauses thoughtfully before adding, “They must be pretty important, for you to travel so far out of your way.”

“You said it, old man.” Wolfwood answers first, which is good, because after the doc says that, Vash starts wondering if his question really _matters._ If it really is important. He’s had holes shot through him more times than he can count, but this was where he decided to draw the line and get help? Shaking his head, he tries to drown out those thoughts, listening to Wolfwood talk instead. “Believe it or not, this isn’t a fashion statement.” Wolfwood runs his fingers through his hair, tousling the blond streak. “Little over a month ago, I was lying dead next to a confessional in a pool of my own blood. I… I _died_. I know I did. But Needlenoggin brought me back.” Vash watches as Wolfwood’s hands tighten into fists. “Problem is, he’s got no clue how he did it. And the only reason I care is because he did… _something_ to me.”

“What do you mean?” The doc leans forward, obviously intrigued.

“I’m not sure,” admits Vash. “I blacked out for a while when I found him, and when I came to, Wolfwood was… alive again.”

“That’s not all.” Finally lighting up a cigarette, Wolfwood breathes in deep, then pulls it from his mouth as he exhales. “I feel… different. I don’t need to do as much to… I don’t know. It’s like I don’t need to do as much to keep myself going.” Wolfwood throws his hands in the air, already aggravated. “I only need to sleep for a couple hours. I don’t eat as much, but I’m not losing weight. I haven’t had a hangover in a month—hell, I feel like I’m twenty again. It’s ridiculous! I smoke a pack and a half a day, but lately, it’s like I’m breathing out of an air filter.”

“Interesting.” The doc gets up, walking over to Wolfwood and taking his hand, turning it over to examine his palm. “It was rumored that the mothership where Vash and Knives were born had conducted experiments on plants, trying to understand their biology and how their energy was produced. There were never any records of such experiments, so most of that information comes from Vash here.” Turning to look up at Vash, the professor asks, “Do you recall there being any work done on the effects of humanoid plants on humans?”

“Uh…” Shrinking into himself, Vash fidgets and turns away. “To tell you the truth, doc, I don’t remember a whole lot.” Not about that, anyway. He and Knives were mostly relegated to the technological stuff. He knows now why the crew would’ve wanted to keep them busy with that.

“That’s alright. I suppose you would have told your friend if you did.” Sighing, the doc pats Wolfwood on the arm and steps back. “Well, I’m afraid there isn’t a whole lot I can tell you that isn’t guesswork, but maybe it will shed _some_ light. My theory is that Vash here gave off some compound that allowed you to take on plant-like characteristics, mostly in the interest of helping you survive.” He shrugs. “It could be something that filters out of your system naturally, or you could develop into a full-fledged, humanoid plant like Vash.”

Wolfwood chokes, nearly inhaling his cigarette.

“Of course,” says the doc, “that’s all speculation. I certainly wouldn’t count on it. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more, but unless you want to submit to some blood tests, a physical examination, maybe even some form of brain scan…” He looks at Wolfwood almost hopefully, but Wolfwood shakes his head immediately, still hacking into his hand.

“N-No can do. Besides, since it sounds like you’re saying what I’ve already been thinking… “ Coughing one last time, he flicks the butt aside. “Why don’t Vash and I get out of your hair as soon as possible. You know.” Wolfwood gives the professor’s bald head a pointed look. “ _Metaphorically.”_

“Very well.” The doc nods, and Vash pipes up.

“Hey! What about me?” Laughing, Vash jumps to his feet, clamping a hand over Wolfwood’s mouth. “And don’t worry about him, all right? This guy likes to speak his mind, but he’s a big ‘ol teddy bear! I’m sure he’d love to stay for dinner, he’s just too embarrassed to admit it.” Wolfwood squirms in Vash’s grip, trying to bite at his hand, but Vash still waits a minute before letting him go. “Besides, there was, uh…” He lets go of Wolfwood, all too aware the other man’s listening very closely. Vash wouldn’t go into too much detail when they left—just that he needed to talk to the professor, and that it was important. He didn’t really feel like Wolfwood needed to know about his weird, _humiliating_ problem. “There’s one more thing.”

“Oh?” Once again, the Doc looks like he can’t wait to hear it.

“I’ve felt kinda different, too.” Glancing down almost nervously, Vash adds, “Since that happened. It’s like I’m sick, or really weak.” Vash has never had a cold, but he imagines it’d feel like what he’s been going through. The closest comparison he has is how he feels right after he uses his angel arm, but even that’s not quite the same. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, and I can’t ask Knives. He’s… I mean—I wouldn’t _want_ to ask him, even if I could. And, besides him, you know more about plants than anyone else I’ve ever met.” Now that he’s saying this out loud, it seems pretty stupid. If he couldn’t help Wolfwood—if he didn’t know what was happening to Vash _then_ —why would he know what’s happening to him now?

“And you’re just… extremely tired?”

“No. There are, uh… That’s not all.” Wincing, Vash looks over his shoulder at Wolfwood, then sidles over a little so his back’s facing the other man. He unbuttons his coat, then pries his shirt open. “Mostly this really weird, um…” He has to wince to himself, violently, before he’s able to mutter the next part. “ _Leaking.”_ It’s been happening again, just a little, since he got up this morning. Not enough to soak through his coat, but enough to be obvious, even now.

“Hm.” Without warning, the doc reaches up and swipes some of the substance off of Vash’s chest with his finger.

“Eugh. That is disgusting.” Wolfwood says, and Vash leaps about a foot in the air, realizing the guy somehow walked right up next to him without Vash even noticing.

“Hey!” Vash pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

The doc, meanwhile, is already back over at his desk, shoving his books out of the way so he can start fiddling with a microscope. Is he… ? Oh. He is. He’s putting Vash’s… _liquid_ onto a slide and examining it. Grimacing, Vash watched for a second, wondering if he should look away. He decides to turn around just when the professor speaks up again. “As you know, most knowledge of independent plants such as yourself, and Knives… Well, it died along with that first ship crashing over a century ago. Your brother was able to recover much of that information, but as you’ve told me, he kept his findings to himself.”

“… Yeah.” Nodding, Vash fixes his shirt, then starts buttoning up his coat. That was true, sure, but Vash never tried to get a biology lesson out of Knives, for obvious reasons. Hell, even if Knives hadn’t ended up a murderer, Vash felt like his brother would’ve deemed this stuff ‘on a need to know basis.’

“I had always had an interest in plants—it was why I was trained from a young age to look after the one powering our ship. But I didn’t begin to study independent plants—that is, I didn’t dedicate a large portion of my experiments and research into finding new, or should I say, _lost_ information on plants… until I met you.” He says that so matter-of-fact; it obviously isn’t meant to be some huge revelation, but Vash still feels a weird twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Now, I’ve learned quite a bit from studying you, and I’m very grateful for the opportunity. But this will most likely be another guess. An educated one, certainly, but still a guess.” The doc turned around on his stool, leaning forward with a thoughtful frown. “That being said, we can move forward from there, and I’m certain I’ll be able to prove my hypothesis with a bit more testing.”

“So?” Wolfwood, clearly annoyed that he hasn’t gotten a straight diagnosis, starts tapping his foot impatiently. “You know what’s wrong with him, or not?”

“I believe I do.” Pausing, the Doc gets to his feet and walks over to a dusty cabinet, prying one of the drawers open and leafing through the papers inside. “Even among ancient documents, there was very little information on plant reproduction. Obviously, most of what we know is how to maintain and repair a plant. If we could breed them, this planet could have considerably more industrial development. We were privy to slightly more information on our ship, having limited access to old SEEDS data. And, while there was no documentation on how independent plants reproduce, I found that most cases seemed to believe their young are born via parthenogenesis.”

“Parthy… _what?”_ Vash sees Wolfwood grimace like trying to say that word put a bad taste in his mouth.

“Parthenogenesis,” repeats the old man. “It’s a type of asexual reproduction. For example, certain female species of lizards are able to reproduce without any involvement from a male. Essentially, they give birth to genetic copies of themselves. Of course, this only happens when they are unable to find a mate.”

Vash fails to swallow the huge lump that’s swelling up in his throat. “And… what does this have to do with me, exactly?”

“Certainly, by plant standards, you’d be very young—usually, it’s several centuries before a plant is considered ‘mature’ enough to go through the reproductive process—but I feel as though your interaction with Mr. Wolfwood may have shortened your lifespan enough for your body to take action.”

Vash feels like every single one of those words went through his head without him understanding a bit of what the doc just said. “Wh-What… What’re you, uh… saying?”

“I’m saying,” the professor clarified, “that, despite your outwardly male appearance, you have the ability to undergo parthenogenesis. And, if my suspicions are correct…” He smiles up at Vash, and sure, it’s probably supposed to be reassuring, and nice, kind of fatherly, but instead, it’s just _horrifying._ Especially when he says the next bit.

“You’re pregnant.”


	5. Luck of the Draw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with last time, Vash's viewpoints aren't reflective of my own in the real world :0 they just felt in character.

“I didn’t touch him, I swear!” Wolfwood backs up against the wall, pointing shakily at Vash.

“Mr. Wolfwood, please!” The doc crosses his arms, giving a little huff. “That’s not at all what I meant. Your resurrection merely kickstarted the process in Vash’s body. For all we know, this could have happened if he had used his angel arm again, or any other major draw of power. The child, if there is one, will have no genetic relation to you.”

“Oh…” Vash watches numbly as Wolfwood lets out a massive exhale, clutching his heart like he just fought off death. “That’s _great_ news.” Straightening up, he claps his hands together. “Boy! I feel like a drink. Who’s in? Uh.” He glances down at the old man. “Guess it’d have to be me and you, huh?”

“Yes, well… Let’s save that discussion for a bit later.” Vash jumps when the doc gives his arm a light pat. “How are you feeling, Vash?”

“Whuh.” Vash just makes a weird little noise, blinking stupidly and staring at the opposite wall. How is he feeling? How’s he _feeling?_

He… has no idea, actually. The closest comparison he can come up with is whenever he’s doing something extra stupid and insane, and he can’t focus on how terrible or sore or miserable he’s gonna feel once the thrill wears off and it’s all over. Pregnant, huh? What does Vash even know about pregnancy? He’s never even talked to anyone who was pregnant—at least, not for more than five seconds, and not about having a baby. And who knows what a plant getting pregnant is supposed to be like? Not Vash—probably not even the doc. What if he turns into a tree like Knives? What if he ends up growing a bunch of extra limbs and a gigantic carapace, like the other plants? What if he has to spend the rest of his life in a bulb? Finally, after what’s probably way too long, he manages to make himself speak. And grin, and laugh a little under his breath. “Me? I’m good!”

Okay. That was a lie, but Vash has never been one to dwell too hard on things. And that was sort of another lie—maybe what he means is, he never lets the things he carries with him bring him down too much.

“You’re… good,” Wolfwood echoes back at him, scratching his head and giving Vash this look like he’s calling him a dumbass without having to say it out loud. “Seriously? Are you _really_ a man?”

“Wh-What kind of a question is that?” Wolfwood’s seen him strip naked and beg before— _whoa!_ Not like that, just back at Lina’s place, when he was trying to get those bandits to back off. (Wait, was Wolfwood there for that? Ugh—it doesn’t matter!)

“I’m just saying, you’re taking this way too well.” Wolfwood crosses his arms with a grumble. “If you need to lose your mind over this, you’d better do it while we’re still here. I’m not gonna ride all the way back to Bernardelli with you having a breakdown on the back of my bike.”

“With all due respect, Vash,” the doc adds, “all of this is a lot to take in. Are you certain you’re processing it?”

“Of course I am!” Scoffing, Vash lets out another laugh before shooting Wolfwood a glare. “Pregnant. That’s… Yeah. Pregnant.” It’s not that bad, right? He starts gesturing as he lists off what he’s pretty sure is the general idea. “You just eat a ton, get really fat, and them _bam—_ baby!” His face kinda falls at that last part. A baby. That’s…

He presses his lips together, swallowing as his arms drop to his sides.

“Well,” the old man begins after an awkward pause, “that’s the typical process for humans, yes. For a plant such as yourself…” He shrugs. “Who knows. But, I would assume, due to your physical form, and most of your biological functions, it would be quite similar.”

“Hear that? You won’t lay a giant egg,” Wolfwood pipes up, smirking. The professor turns to give him an irritated look and Wolfwood adds, “Or would it be a seed?”

“ _Thank you_ , Mr. Wolfwood,” grumbles the old man. He steps forward, patting Vash lightly on the arm. For some reason, Vash feels like pulling away, but he makes himself stay still. “I trust that the journey wasn’t too strenuous. I may not be able to predict what this will be like for you—assuming you definitely are pregnant, and _do_ wish to carry through with the entire gestation—so feel free to come visit again if you have any concerns.” He smiles broadly. “Or, just to visit at all. We do miss seeing you around here.”

There’s a little flutter in his chest when the doc says that, and suddenly, Vash feels a tiny bit better. Chuckling, he folds his arms behind his head, nodding quickly. “Heh! Yeah. I’ll try to come around more often, okay?”

“That would be nice.” The professor starts to step out in the hallway, then turns back towards Vash and Wolfwood. “Oh, uh—why don’t you two join me for lunch? You really must see what we’ve done with the old centrifuge.”

* * *

“I knew this was gonna happen.” Vash sighs, craning his neck back to stare up at the suns. It’s getting to be late afternoon, so they’d better get a move on. Whenever the hell Wolfwood’s ready to pack it up, anyway.

“Bullshit! You just _happened_ to talk crap about this bike the whole trip. It would’ve died even if you were singing its praises.” Wolfwood groans, finally closing the hatch on the side of the motorcycle and getting to his feet. “Especially with your luck.”

“Hey!” Vash bristles. “What does this have to do with my luck? It was your stupid _impulse buy_ that got us stranded.”

“We’re not stranded, Needlenoggin.” Wolfwood fumbles with his lighter, talking around his cigarette as he starts walking. “We can make it back by nightfall. Why don’t you put those stork legs to work and get walking?”

Vash glances back the way they came, then ahead—which just looks like more formless, never-ending desert—and groans, throwing his head back. “Why are you always so mean to me?”

Wolfwood just waves him off. “Because we both know you have it coming.” 

“Hey! What’d I do?” Vash whines.

“Turned me into a walking flower garden, for one,” counters Wolfwood. “Plus, the way you talked about your friend, I figured that old geezer of yours was gonna fix me up in no time. But look at me now! I’m out 900 double dollars, and I’m right back where I started.”

“Yup!” Vash rolls his eyes. “It’s real tough, being a plant. The strength, the power, the perfect good looks—not everybody’s cut out for it.” Vash has taken living for over a century pretty well, but he feels like that’d just give Wolfwood more things to complain about.

“Was that sarcasm?” Wolfwood stomps ahead, then stops dead in his tracks. Vash watches as his whole body goes stiff before he shudders violently. “Guh! Wait a second—if I’m a plant, does that mean _I_ could—“ Completely lost, Vash watches as Wolfwood points at him, then mimes having a huge dome of a stomach. Oh _._ When Vash just shrugs, Wolfwood blanches and moves like he’s gonna start sprinting back the way they came. “W-We gotta go back! Get this— _plant matter_ out of me. There’s no way in hell I’m dealing that kind of nightmare.”

“Seriously?” Groaning, Vash catches Wolfwood by the arm, yanking him back. “That’s not gonna happen to you!” Okay, Vash isn’t sure about that, but he’s _close_ to sure. What he does know is that this probably happened because he’s an independent plant, and apparently, this is normal for them. For… _him._ But Wolfwood is still… “You’re still… mostly human! Just… a little more durable. And human guys don’t…” Trailing off, Vash makes a face. Maybe it’s just because it’s still sinking in, but saying ‘get pregnant’ out loud isn’t something he really wants to do.

Wolfwood yanks his arm out of Vash’s grip, glancing over his shoulder like he’s this close to bolting, before growling under his breath and shaking his head. “You better be right about that, Needlenoggin.”

“Hey, would I lie to you?” Vash laughs, grinning at Wolfwood and then shrinking uncomfortably when he can _feel_ the glare the guy’s giving him from behind his sunglasses. “Eheh…”

“Alright, smartass…” Wolfwood doesn’t follow that up at first; he just goes back to walking, and Vash jogs a couple paces to catch up with him. They’re both quiet for another minute or two before Wolfwood pipes up again. “So. You gonna keep it?”

Vash tilts his head in confusion. “Keep what?”

“What do you _think_ , moron?” Sighing irritably, Wolfwood jams his hands into his pockets. “The old geezer confirmed it—you’re knocked up.” He shrugs, asking a little less forcefully, “Are you gonna keep it?”

“Oh.” Oh, yeah! That’s right—Vash wasn’t sure he was ready to think about that yet. Keeping it himself just seems like a bad idea, not to mention _scary…_ Sure, Vash loves kids, but he’s not crazy! Being a parent is a lot harder than what Vash normally does with kids—that is, he just runs around with them in the town square for half an hour. Vash doesn’t think he’s really cut out for that. But, on the bright side, he’s met so many nice people along the way, over so many years, and some of them might _love_ the chance to raise a child… “Well, wouldn’t be the first time a human raised a plant, I guess..”

“No, idiot!” Wolfwood groans again. “I mean… _keep it_ at all. Like, now.” Voice getting quieter, Wolfwood mutters, “You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to.”

Vash tenses up when Wolfwood says that, and he feels a little spark of anger light up in the pit of his stomach. “I could never do that.”

“What?” It really hits Vash again—how different they are—when Wolfwood sounds so _confused_ by what Vash is saying. “Why the hell not?”

Vash doesn’t want to get into it, really, so he just sort of… fakes it. “Are you kidding? I couldn’t take that kind of pain!” Well, he _assumes_ it would be painful. Vash doesn’t know for sure, and he isn’t all too comfortable picturing it. “I’d probably have a heart attack, and then I’d end up crying all the way to the pearly gates!”

“Vash…” Wolfwood wipes the sweat off his brow, giving Vash a tired look. “Stop trying to pull that crap.” Giving another short pause, Wolfwood takes one last drag from his cigarette and flings it aside. “… There’s no shame in it. I know a guy out east who can do it safely. Besides—it’s just us three who know: you, me, and that old bag of bones. Neither of us would give you a hard time for doing it. You _know_ that.”

Vash swallows, but doesn’t answer.

“Come on, Needlenoggin.” Wolfwood stops, and Vash walks past him a few paces before reluctantly stopping, too. “Say something. You’re scaring me.”

“I… “ What is Vash supposed to say? He doesn’t want to get into this, when he already knows what his answer is, and that he’s not changing it. “I know why… people… Why they would choose to do that. I understand it.” They’re probably terrified, or confused, or even fearing for their own life. Maybe it’s a last resort. And Vash does know some people value their own lives above everyone else’s, even if he’ll never understand that. But—“But I couldn’t do it.” Even if it isn’t much of anything yet, it’s alive, right? And if Vash can keep that life from being snuffed out, he has to. “I will always do everything I can to save a life. You know that.” Wolfwood knows Vash better than anyone; his past, his beliefs, whatever hare-brained idea he happens to be cooking up. The other man’s either right there with him, or already one step ahead. In a way, Vash is surprised he even asked about this.

“Yeah. I know.” Even though Wolfwood’s just standing next to him, Vash feels like the other man has a million things he wants to say, but he can’t pick just one. Eventually, he settles on, “This isn’t gonna be a picnic, you know. I mean, Vash the Stampede, running around with a bun in the oven?” Wolfwood shudders, and Vash almost feels jealous that he hasn’t gotten to react like that. Sure, he’s positive about his decision, but he’s still… _completely_ weirded out. Most of him is still trying to wrap his head around the idea of actually having something growing inside him. “You can’t set foot in a town without half of the buildings exploding.”

“That’s not true!” Vash appreciates the concern, but things are better now! “It’ll be fine—my bounty’s history, I’ve been in Bernardelli for almost a month without any trouble, and there won’t be any mercenaries coming after me since Knives is...” _Whatever_ Knives is. “You know.”

“Oh, sure.” Wolfwood slouches suddenly, like having a conversation with Vash is physically weighing him down. “With the law, lone gunmen, and your psychotic brother out of the picture, all that’s left working against us is your luck.” Wolfwood shakes his head, craning his neck down to stare at his feet. “I still don’t like those odds.”

“You’re a priest, aren’t you?” Vash grins and gives a thumbs up. “Try having a little faith!”


	6. Target Practice

“You know, Needlenoggin…” Wolfwood sighs as he sets his drink down, staring over the edge of the bar like he’s daydreaming. “I think this might really be it.”

“Might be what?” Vash is still trying not to say too many words at once—he bought a whole bag of donuts before they came in the saloon, just so he wouldn’t feel left out about not being able to drink. Of course, then it turned out they don’t allow outside food, and he had to scarf down all of them so he didn’t feel wasteful. “Ugh.”

“I might really settle down.” The way he says that, it’s like he’s making a big, shameful admission. “I mean, as much as somebody like me _can_. I’ll still take the odd job, and travel out to the old convent every couple of weeks. Hell, who knows—maybe we’ll move the orphans to a church out here!” He starts laughing. “I bet the girls would love to help out.”

“Yeah, probably.” Vash scrunches his face up, swallowing and trying to keep his nausea from getting any worse. He swears, his stomach was never this weak before all this! Maybe his body is just freaking out for his brain, since every time Vash thinks about his whole… _problem_ , he just tries to distract himself right away before he loses his mind.

“They sure are great,” says Wolfwood fondly. “Millie’s… She’s really something, Vash.”

Vash nods dumbly—of course Millie’s something. She’s kind, strong, and compassionate. Sure, she’s not the brightest bulb in the pack, but he’s always felt like he can be himself around her! And, if nobody else is on Vash’s wavelength, he can usually count on Millie understanding him. “Yep! She’s pretty great.”

“How many other girls do you think would be fine with my line of work?” Wolfwood lifts his glass up, moving his hand around in little circles so the ice cubes twirl. (Vash doesn’t even know why he’s still drinking—just the other day, he was complaining about how alcohol just didn’t do it for him like it used to.) “Not even fine—she’s downright _supportive._ I bet she’d even come with me if I asked.” Chuckling, he ducks his head. “Can’t you just picture her getting way too into it, blasting anybody who gets within ten feet of whatever poor shmuck hired us?”

“Mmm. Yep.” Vash clamps a hand over his mouth, burping queasily into his palm. By the time the wave of nausea passes, he realizes, a second too late, that the whole bar’s gone quiet.

“Well, well.” The saloon doors swing wide open, and Vash can see three silhouettes standing on the porch. “What the hell kind of a ‘welcome back’ party is this?” The three figures stroll inside—they’re all men, dressed in fur ponchos with fang necklaces. There’s one huge guy with a thick mustache, and one scrawny, weasely looking teenager. The tallest one tips his hat slightly, leering out from under the brim. “It’s peaceful and quiet, people are paying for their drinks, and nobody’s been shot.” He chuckles, then asks, “The _Oso_ brothers deserve a little more excitement than that, don’t you think?”

“GET LOST!” Somebody flings a glass towards them, but the big one doesn’t even flinch when it shatters against the wall a few inches from his head.

“Now, now! That’s no way to treat a valued customer.” The tallest strolls over to the counter, and the other two follow close behind, watching as their brother leans towards the bartender. “I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks. Oh, and, uh, how about a small fee. Just enough to cover the cost of us _not_ blowing your entire restaurant to smithereens!”

The bartender goes pale, moving like he’s going to start rifling through the register. He stays silent for a moment, only to turn back around at the drop of a hat, a loaded pistol cocked in his shaking hands. “Y-You get lost, you hear? You’re not welcome in our establishment. We got a nice reputation here!” 

“Reputation? _Ha!_ Now there’s a damn laugh.” The tall brother slips a hand into his poncho, and pulls out a gargatuan handgun, holding it lazily in his palm. “If it wasn’t us terrorizing you, it’d be somebody else. Or someone other than that. This planet’s a pile a shit, and so are the people on it. At least me and my boys have the decency to admit what we are.” Making a ‘tssk’ noise, he shakes his head. “And you know what else I am? _I_ am pissed off off—pissed off that you’d dare to talk to me like that.” His tone gets a little darker. “I think you’d better pay me back for being humiliated.” He lifts his gun and takes aim, pointing right at the bartender’s face. “How about with your ear?”

A shot from somewhere in the opposite end of the bar goes zipping by the brothers. It doesn’t hit anyone, but it’s close enough to make all three wince.

“We’re not afraid of you idiots.” A customer lowers his gun, getting to his feet before grinning at Vash. “Besides, we’ve got Vash the Stampede looking out for us now.”

“What?” Vash grins, trying not to panic. He was starting to think nobody in Bernardelli actually knew who he was! The town was still standing, after all—that doesn’t really mesh well with his reputation! _“_ Awe, come on! Don’t put me on the spot like that. I get stage-fright.”

“That guy?” The tallest brother gawks at Vash while his siblings struggle to hold back their laughter. He looks Vash up and down, trying so hard to seem unimpressed that it’s over the top. “You’re pretending that twiggy freak is Vash the Stampede?”

“Hold on, Silas.” One of the other brothers leers, lifting his firearm, too. “Maybe we oughta put that theory to the test. These hicks might be full of it, but at least we can have some fun with this feller in the meantime.”

“Hey, I’ve got a better idea!” Vash stands up slowly, both hands raised in a peaceful gesture. “Why don’t we put down our weapons and just… talk it out?”

Suddenly, there’s a hand grabbing at the crook of his elbow. Wolfwood, through gritted teeth, demands, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh, have we not met?” Vash smiles a strained smile down at him. “I’m Vash, and I just can’t _stand_ the sight of blood.”

“You wanna get shot, idiot?” Wolfwood stands up, too, hissing, “Didn’t you just decide to keep that thing? So why are you trying to get _shot full of holes?”_

Vash frowns at Wolfwood, then blanches. Thing? What does he… Oh. Yeah, he—he forgot. Somehow.

“Ooh! Looks like a real interesting conversation you two are havin’,” drawls the leader of the gang. “How ‘bout you share it with the rest of the class?”

Wolfwood stares for a second, then chuckles, lowering his head. “You know what, kids? I’d love to.”

Vash has time to blink—and he isn’t exaggerating when he says that—before Wolfwood snatches his gun out of his holster and puts a bullet through the oldest one’s shoulder. Then, as soon as the other two brothers aim towards him, Wolfwood sinks another shot into the left one’s knee, misses the third, then shoots the fourth one through the right’s abdomen.

Vash, along with every other person in the bar, just gawk stupidly as the trio collapses in a heap by the door. Then, the whole building erupts into cheers, beer flying everywhere as they start clamoring towards the entrance. A few people grab the brothers and start restraining them, and a good portion of the patrons flock over to Wolfwood, talking over one another eagerly. Vash… just keeps staring, jaw slack as Wolfwood passes him his gun. Finally, he closes his mouth and swallows, slipping his gun back into its holster.

“How—“ he mumbles, then stops himself. It’s pretty obvious, actually. Wolfwood was already an incredible shot, especially for an ordinary man. But now, with his plant abilities boosting his talent, he’s…

Okay, honestly? Vash is almost… _jealous_. It took him nearly a century of practice to get as good as he is now! Wolfwood’s only been at it for thirty years, but one little dose of plant power, and he’s giving Vash more of a run for his money than ever before.

“Alright, Needlenoggin.” Wolfwood claps him on the back as he worms free of his fanbase, then starts shoving Vash towards the back door. “As tempting as it is to leave you speechless, you and I have some business to discuss.”

* * *

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Meryl’s voice is muffled, and Vash can barely hear her. She’s refused to move her hands from her face for the past minute. “Vash, why do you keep doing these things?”

“Hey, I didn’t do anything!” Vash glances around defensively when everybody gives him a funny look. “At least, not on purpose. What’re you so mad about, anyway?”

“I can’t take it!” Meryl drags her palms down her face, letting her hands fall to the table as she stares bleakly over Vash’s shoulder. “The insurance, the _destruction_ , the fact that you’re an _alien_ and you had a crazy, genocidal twin out to destroy Gunsmoke—that was enough! My brain was full to bursting, okay!?” Her shoulders slumping, Meryl drops her gaze towards the table, picking up a spoon so she can stir her small cup of coffee gradually faster and faster. “Now—Now you’re telling me your brother is a tree, Wolfwood _died_ and came back to life, and all of that caused you to become p… _pre….”_ Her hand freezes and she just… stops. Apparently, that word’s just too much for her to say.

“I think it’s neat!” Millie beams, placing her hand on top of Vash’s. Vash smiles sheepishly back. “Vash, you love kids, right? You’re going to be a great mom.” Wolfwood wheezes into his hand at ‘mom’ and turns away while Millie looks up at him, confused. “What? What’d I say?”

“Well, I _absolutely_ disagree.” Meryl crosses her arms, apparently over being shocked, and back to being business-like. Well, she never really stays out of that mode for too long unless she’s completely wasted. (Vash kind of wishes she were wasted right now, actually.) “Just because you goof off sometimes with other people’s kids, it doesn’t mean you’re ready to become a parent.”

“I could be!” protests Vash, ignoring the way his guts twinge nervously. He’s still not so sure about the idea of raising this baby—if it even is a normal _baby_. He’s been having a lot of weird dreams about something that’s a lot more plant than humanoid. But then he thinks about Rem, and what she’d say—or, how Vash would give just about _anything_ to have her back—and he feels rotten for even considering making this someone else’s problem.

“Before we even get to that point, we’ve got something else to talk about,” Wolfwood insists. “And it’s _not_ planning a date for the baby shower. I’m sure you both heard about this afternoon’s shoot out?”

“Of course we did!” Meryl apparently doesn’t care about Vash’s delicate condition, because she leans across the table to smack the side of his head. “What were you thinking!? You’ve only been back in town for a few days—how did you manage to blow half the saloon up?”

“It was a coincidence!” Seriously! Meryl can’t blame him for everything, right? Next, she’s gonna get mad at him because it’s too hot outside. “Those guys just showed up out of nowhere. And I was gonna handle it _non-violently_! Wolfwood’s the one who shot them, and the rest of the damage was from the celebrating…”

“Hey! You’re the whole reason I had to shoot them.” Wolfwood jabs a finger in Vash’s direction. “You practically jumped on the bar and asked ‘em to use you for target practice!” Lowering his voice, Wolfwood hisses from between his teeth, “What the hell happened to taking it easy, huh? Lead doesn’t count as a prenatal vitamin, you know.”

“I know that! But I—“ Vash’s face starts burning. “It was just—I was—“

“It’s just reflex for him,” Meryl grumbles, and Vash looks at her in surprise. Sighing, she shakes her head, then turns to Wolfwood. “He’s been taking bullets for people since before we were born. That behavior’s not going to disappear overnight.”

“Believe me, I get it,” grouses Wolfwood. “I’ve been watching this jackass in action for just as long as you two have.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” Millie scolds. Wolfwood, to his credit, actually looks a little chastised. “Vash only wants to help people. You shouldn’t yell at him for trying to do the right thing.”

“Okay, okay! He’s a martyr, we get it.” Wolfwood grabs his drink, downing it quickly before he continues. “That’s not the issue here.”

Vash blinks. “It’s not?”

“Of course not!” Rolling his eyes, Wolfwood says, “I don’t expect you to stay out of trouble. For God’s sake, getting yourself into some crazy mess every ten minutes is your only real talent.”

“Only real—“ Vash gasps, genuinely offended. “It is _not!_ I’d like to see _you_ eat thirty donuts in less than ten minutes—“

Meryl throws her arm out between them, silencing them both. “Point, Wolfwood! What’s your point?”

Lifting his hand, Wolfwood states slowly, “If the poor bastard can’t keep himself from getting into a shootout, we send him someplace where there aren’t any shootouts.”

“Uh…” Vash exchanges glances with Meryl and Millie—yeah, even _Millie_ gets how weird that statement is.

“Did you hit your head recently?” asks Meryl.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wolfwood grumbles, waving her off. “I know what you’re thinking. But there actually is a town where, once upon a time, this idiot—“ He jerks a thumb at Vash again. “—managed to stay under the radar for six whole months.”

It takes Vash less than a second to realize exactly where Wolfwood’s talking about. Wolfwood studies Vash’s face for a second, then chuckles.

“That’s right.” He pushes his empty glass away and leans back. “Pack your things, Loverboy. We’re gonna pay Granny a visit.”


	7. Overnight

“The hell do you mean, you thought _I_ was gonna ‘keep an eye on him’?” Wolfwood bellows. “Do I look like a babysitter to you?”

“You _do_ have an entire church-full of orphans in your care,” mutters Meryl, though she looks away innocently when Wolfwood glowers at her.

“That’s completely different! A certain _somebody_ is old enough to take care of himself.” Huffing, Wolfwood crosses his arms, tapping his foot and stirring up a small cloud of dust while Vash stands back uncomfortably. “Nobody’s paying me, or blackmailing me this time around—why do _I_ have to be the one to keep an eye on him?”

“Because Millie and I have to go to September for work.” Millie nods rapidly as Meryl speaks, probably happy to let Meryl do the talking. Vash knows she has a hard time standing up for herself unless it’s a issue she takes very seriously. “We’ll be gone for two weeks—all we’re asking is for you to go with Vash, make sure he gets there in one piece, and then come back.”

“Yeah, well, easier said than done,” grumbles Wolfwood. “Look, here’s an idea—why don’t we trade, huh?” He steps over to Millie, wrapping an arm around her waist and grinning as she giggles. “Meryl, you get to have fun with your best friend over there, and Millie and I can spend some quality time discussing… insurance policies!” Vash winces as Wolfwood starts chuckling, too—he’s not sure why, since public displays of affection don’t normally make him so uncomfortable. Then again, it’s more Wolfwood being _nice_ to somebody that makes his skin crawl. Seriously: who’s he trying to fool with that shtick? Well, Millie, and it’s working, but watching Wolfwood flirt still creeps Vash out. “We’ll go to September, I’ll help you schmooze some rich tycoon, get him to invest some big bucks… Hell, I’ll even put on a dress and a wig if I have to.”

“Nice try, but we already decided who’s going with Vash,” announces Millie, wriggling so that Wolfwood will let her go. Eventually, after a pause, he does. “It has to be you.”

“Does it have to be me?” Wolfwood kicks at sand like a pouty little kid. “Does it have to be anyone, really? I mean maybe, just _maybe…”_ Wolfwood trails off, then declares, “Needlenoggin will be fine on his own.”

“Doubtful.” After saying that, Meryl takes a moment to cross her arms sternly.

Then there’s a pause, and Vash swallows as they all turn to look at him—Meryl with concern on her face, Millie with genuine confusion, and Wolfwood with a strained expression that tells Vash he doesn’t believe a word of his own argument. “… I mean, I _could_ be.”

“Hey! Actually, speaking of orphans, it’s about time I checked up on mine!” Laughing, Wolfwood darts over to Vash, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Sorry, bud! Looks like I can’t keep you company after all. Too bad, real sad, but listen… You’ll be in my thoughts. Hell—I’ll even pray for you! No fee required.”

“Hey, but…” Millie furrows her brow, and her face lights up as she seems to realize something. “Isn’t your old church on the way to September?”

“How convenient,” says Meryl dryly.

Millie nods thoughtfully, then smiles even wider. “Oh! I know! How about Meryl and I stop by to check on the kids and save you the trip?”

“Do I get any say in this?” Vash pipes up hopefully.

“Maybe in your dreams,” says Meryl. She reaches over and hits Wolfwood lightly on the arm. “Look—we’re not trying to pick on you, alright? It just makes sense. You’re the most competent gunman, you have a flexible ‘work’ schedule, and you’ve been learning about Vash since you were a kid! And Vash—“ Meryl sighs, then stomps over to him. It’s funny; even though she’s barely five feet tall, the way she comes at him makes Vash want to cower, especially when she reaches out her arms. But then, before he really gets what’s happening, she’s pulled him into a hug. “We just want to make sure you’re safe. I know you can handle pretty much anything, but I—well, _we_ would feel better if Wolfwood went with you.”

“What are friends for, right?” asks Millie. Vash wraps his arms around Meryl lightly, watching as Millie cups Wolfwood’s face with one hand before planting a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry! We’ll all be back home before you know it.”

Meryl makes an irritated noise, and Vash glances down, watching as she props her chin against his chest and pouts up at him. “Don’t do anything stupid, Vash.”

“Hey! It’s me we’re talking about.” Vash smiles down at her, trying to sound genuine when he insists, “I’ll be fine.”

Meryl groans, letting him go and stepping away so she can knead at her temple with a couple fingers. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Come on, Needlenoggin.” Wolfwood takes the bag Millie packed him with a sour look on his face, but his scowl softens when Millie gives him another kiss—this time on the lips. “Let’s get this over with.”

Vash smirks, then gives a dramatic, twirling gesture with one hand, bowing towards Wolfwood. “Onward, bodyguard! And no more of that _lip_. Valentinez Alkalinella Xifax etcetera does _not_ pay you for your opinions!”

Wolfwood punches Vash on the arm, but it’s pretty half-hearted. “Yeah, well, if somebody actually was paying me, this wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass.”

“I’ve got…” Vash fishes around in his pockets, then pulls out the contents. “Twenty double-dollars and half of a packet of gum.”

Wolfwood gives him a dirty look. “ _How_ have you managed to stay alive this long?”

“A miracle,” answers Meryl flatly. Heaving a sigh, she thinks for a second, then offers, “Think of it like this, Wolfwood—even if Bernadelli can’t be held responsible for Vash’s actions, you’d still be doing our company—and, by extension, _us—_ a pretty big favor by looking out for him. The fewer disasters related to the humanoid typhoon, the better. Plus, less paperwork for us to deal with.”

“That’s right!” Millie pipes up. “We’d both really appreciate it.”

Sidling up to Wolfwood, Vash smirks and whispers, “You’d be a real cold-hearted bastard if you couldn’t even do your _girlfriend_ one little favor.” Never mind the fact that Wolfwood is Vash’s friend, too, and even though Vash doesn’t need to be babysat, it stings that Wolfwood can’t be bothered to hang around Vash on his own now that Knives isn’t breathing down his neck.

“You’ve got no shame,” growls Wolfwood. Shaking his head, he leans forward and pats Millie lightly on the head. “Ehh. You talked me into it.” Sighing, he steps back and gives Millie a miserable look. “See you in half a month, kiddo.”

Millie reaches out and gives his hand a quick squeeze, then trots over the Meryl, waving enthusiastically. “You two have fun!”

“Millie, you’re focusing on the wrong thing!” scolds Meryl. As both girls start walking away, she turns over her shoulder to shout, “I mean it, Vash! Stay out of trouble, even if it _kills you!”_

“Don’t get my hopes up.” Wolfwood waves at them as they start up the hill towards their Tomases, and both he and Vash stay and watch as the girls mount the birds and ride them off over the horizon.

Finally, after a few minutes of silence, Vash pipes up. “You’re not really gonna make me go all the way to Lina’s, are you?”

Wolfwood scoffs. “Like hell, I’m not.” He shoves Vash, forcing him to stumble forward. “I made a promise to my _girlfriend.”_

* * *

It takes them a week to get there. One long, painful week, where they almost run out of water, have to get a ride from the sketchiest bus driver either of them have ever seen, and get set back a whole day by getting caught in a sandstorm. So, just another, typical journey for the both of them. In a way, Vash is relieved. It’s like nothing’s changed, and if he doesn’t think too hard about the small, annoying ways his body acts these days, he can make believe everything really is the same.

And then, it happens.

The morning before they get into town is when Vash first notices. He and Wolfwood slept like crap, bunkering down in a cave about twenty iles outside of town, and when night fell, it dropped well below freezing. Vash put on about five extra layers too many, and in the morning, woke up drenched in sweat. Trying to cool off, he threw everything—blankets, socks, coat—off, leaving just his pants and undershirt. That’s when he actually took a good look at himself.

His stomach has… bumped out. Just a tiny bit—like he had way too much to eat yesterday, and he’s still bloated from his last meal. But the curve of it starts too high up on his abdomen to be food, and it almost looks like a softened “v” more than some round muffin top. He knows it didn’t happen overnight (probably), but it still leaves him feeling…

Okay, he’s _terrified_. There’s something actually growing inside him, and in who knows how long—maybe a few more months, maybe way sooner—that ‘something’ will have to come out. And now, even though he’s fully dressed again, and he can’t even see the changes underneath his coat, they’re all he can think about.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Needlenoggin?” Wolfwood, of course, picks up on it right away. Vash guesses he isn’t normally this quiet.

“Whuh—What?” Is it hot out here? Well, yeah; it’s a desert, and deserts get hot. Seriously, why can’t he take his mind off this? He’s trying as hard as he can not to think about it: not to think about _anything_ … baby related. But it’s like seeing something beyond disgusting and having to deal with it sitting in the back of your head all day. The harder you try to not to think about it, the more it gets stuck in your brain. “Nothing! I’m…”

Glancing down at his stomach before he can stop himself, Vash has to shove down a wave of nausea when he sees just how far it pushes out. The last thing he needs is to start throwing up on top of everything else. Pretty soon, he won’t even be able to see his feet! How’s he supposed to do anything when that happens? Not to mention when he can actually feel something _moving_ inside him. Lately, he thinks he feels these weird tingles in his abdomen, but for all he knows, he’s imagining it. But the thought of something tossing and turning inside him like a gigantic parasite makes his skin crawl. It’s way too late for him to be realizing this, but now, he knows he’s spent too much time worrying about what happens after he has the kid, and not enough time worrying about how he’s gonna deal with the ‘before.’

“I’m just… really tired.”

“Well, you can have granny cook you some soup and read you a bedtime story, soon as we get there.” Wolfwood’s trying his best to be a jackass, but even his usual jabs sound tired. Not that Vash is listening too closely; it’s like, every time he closes his eyes, his brain puts this terrifying mental image of himself, with a huge, swollen stomach, blood everywhere as he lies on a bed, screaming his head off—

“GUH. Y-You…” Crap! What did Wolfwood even say? Oh, right: something sarcastic. “Would it kill you to be a little more sensitive?” 

“You kidding?” Wolfwood chuckles, slapping Vash on the back. “I don’t think I’ve ever babied anybody as much as I baby you.”

“Can you not… use that word?” Making a gulping noise, Vash squints up at the suns and starts walking faster.

“Which one?” Vash doesn’t have to look behind him to know Wolfwood’s smirking like an asshole. “‘Baby’ or ‘kidding’?”

Shaking his head, Vash makes a small noise of complaint. “Either, I guess.”

“Why? Does it bother you or something?” He hears brisk footsteps, and Wolfwood catches up with him. The other man leans way forward as he walks, studying Vash and rubbing his chin before saying, “Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, you have a point. Baby’s not really an accurate word. How about...” The guy’s holding back laughter when he suggests, “Sapling?”

“How about I puke all over you?” Vash asks, then winces and clamps a hand over his mouth. Okay—that threat ended up being more sincere than he would’ve liked. At least it works: Wolfwood takes one look at his face and skitters away to a safe distance.

“Now that’s just overkill.” Grumbling, Wolfwood stays behind for a while, and a weird feeling blooms in Vash’s gut when he spots the outlines of buildings in the distance. He can’t tell if he’s nervous, excited, or still about to throw up. But hey—maybe it’ll be okay! They don’t have to tell Lina and Grams everything, right? All they really need to know is that Vash is… _sick_ , and he needs to hide out for a while. He’ll just… treat it like a vacation.

* * *

“This is it, right?” Wolfwood skirts around the fence and stomps up the dusty lawn, rapping his fingers on the door. “Hey! Grandma! Got a little care package for you.”

The door creaks open just as Vash steps up on the porch and gets throttled to the ground. “ _Oof!”_

“Eriks!” Lina’s burying her face in his— _ow!_ —still tender chest, her arms tight around him as they lie together on the dirt. “I never thought I’d see you again…”

“Hey, hey!” Before Vash can stop him, Wolfwood’s pulling Lina back on her feet by the scruff of her shirt. “Enough with the roughhousing. This moron’s in a delicate condition.”

“Oh, sorry.” Lina looks so guilty, it practically hurts. She bends down to take his hand and pull him up, dusting his coat off timidly. “Did you get shot again? Was it bad?”

“Lina?” Grams hurries down the porch steps towards them, wiping her hands on her apron before putting them on her hips. “My, my. Been a while, hasn’t it, Eriks?”

“You know his real name is Vash, right?” Wolfwood casually rests an arm on Vash’s shoulder as soon as he’s standing again, shoving him forward.

“Haven’t you ever heard of a nickname, Mr. Preacher?” Scoffing, Grams beckons for them to follow her inside. “He’ll always be Eriks to us.”

Lina circles them like an excited puppy, then latches onto Vash’s arm happily as they step through the front door. “So—what brings you guys back here?” It hits Vash that she’s at least an inch or two taller than he remembers. And stronger! She tugs him along without any trouble at all.

“I know it must be something more important than just a friendly visit.” Grams points to the dining table and gestures for them to sit down. “If you were the vacationing, you’d have dropped by more often.”

“Jeeze, Grams!” Chuckling, Vash shrugs casually, trying to downplay how he suddenly feels like a huge jerk. “Already hitting me with the guilt trip, huh?”

“Not like you don’t deserve it.” Sliding a cigarette out of his pocket, Wolfwood asks, “Hey, am I allowed to smoke in here?” Grams gives him a dirty look, but doesn’t say no, so Wolfwood lights it anyway. “If it makes you feel better, you’re not the only one of his friends to get screwed over by his sense of time. He’s on Vash years—a couple months feel like a few hours to him.”

“They do not!” And hey—shouldn’t Vash be speaking for himself here?

Wolfwood ignores him. “You’re right about one thing, though—this isn’t just a courtesy call.” After taking a deep drag, he ashes the cigarette out the open window. “Me and a few of his friends have decided ‘Eriks’ is better off giving the peaceful, quiet life another shot. For a few months, anyway.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Grams starts setting out some saucers and cups, arranging them thoughtfully. “And why the hell did you pick this town? Just because those bandits are gone, it doesn’t mean it’s peaceful. Of course, we’re happy to have him, but…” She grabs some sugar and creamer from the kitchen and sets them down, too. “Surely you know as well as I do that trouble always seems to find Eriks.”

Pausing, Wolfwood studies Grams. “Y’know, if you don’t want me to dump him on you, you can just say so.”

Vash bristles. “Wolfwood!”

Grams gives him the glare of the century before announcing, “I’ll make that tea now.”

Lina finally drops into one of the chairs, and Vash follows suit. Wolfwood stays nearby and leans against the wall, holding his cigarette out the window between puffs. “Are you really going to stay with us again?”

Vash manages a real smile. “If you’ll let me.”

“Of course!” But, after a second, Lina looks unhappy. “Did… something really bad happen to you again? Is that why you came back?”

“That depends on your definition of bad,” Wolfwood supplies.

“It’s not bad! It’s just—It’s kind of…” Swallowing, Vash hangs his head. “It’s hard to explain.”

“I hope you haven’t gotten into even more trouble,” Grams grouses as she comes out of the kitchen, setting down a pot of tea. “That bounty of yours was more than enough.” Lina pours some for herself immediately, adding two heaping spoonfuls of sugar, and Grams simply adds a touch of honey to her cup. Vash figures he should pour some—it’d probably help settle his stomach—but he feels so awkward right now, it’s like he can barely move!

“Oh, he has.” Yeah, Wolfwood is enjoying this way too much. Just as Vash lifts his head, looking at the guy in a way that simply _begs_ him not to come right out and say it, Wolfwood announces, “He’s pregnant.”

Lina’s spoon drops with a little clatter. “ _Huh!?”_

Lifting a hand up like he’s calming an angry mob instead of a young girl and a grandmother, Wolfwood explains, “I know, I know—we’ve both seen him strip naked, so you know just as well as I do that he seems like a normal, horrifically scarred human man. But he’s not.”

“Uh.” Vash has no idea what to say, but as embarrassing as it is, he thinks he’d rather let Wolfwood do the talking. After all, if he were more comfortable having conversations about the hard stuff, he probably wouldn’t have waited so long to tell Meryl the first thing about his past. In the end, he just nods, staring down at his empty cup.

“I won’t go into too much detail—hell, it doesn’t really matter if you believe me or not. You’re gonna see proof eventually. And hey, in the meantime, if it helps, you can just pretend he’s got some sort of life-threatening illness forcing him to go under house arrest.” Walking over to the table again, Wolfwood takes a seat and, ignoring grandma’s glare, snuffs the cigarette out in his empty cup. “But either way, he needs to lay low for a while. Go back to being Eriks.” Wolfwood’s face twitches, and then he breaks out in a grin. “Or _Erika.”_

Vash kicks him from under the table.

Both Lina and Grandma are staring at Wolfwood like they’re waiting for him to say he was just kidding, and Vash knows he probably ought to say something, but he has no idea what that something should be! Wolfwood’s being a huge asshole about it, but he’s also just… stating the facts. And, no matter how embarrassingly Wolfwood phrases it, it’s still less humiliating than having to say it himself. Finally, he works around the knot in his throat and figures out what he wants to say. “I know this is _really_ strange, and it’s a lot to ask, but… do you think—would you ever let me stay here after all the trouble I caused you?”

Grandma’s face softens a little. “You were no trouble at all. And you saved my Lina more times than I can count.”

Lina blushes a little, ducking her head. “Grandma…”

“We’d be happy to have you,” the old woman continues. “I’ll admit, it’s a… strange situation, but I always had my suspicions that something was different about you. No human being could survive _half_ the injuries you’re living with, let alone be thriving.” Well, at least she’s not in shell-shock.

“This is gonna be great!” Reaching out over the table, Lina pats Vash’s hand reassuringly. “Everybody in town really likes you, Eriks, so… everybody can pitch in and help take care of you.”

Vash has to bite his tongue to stop himself from grousing about how he can take care of himself, and he _has_ been doing that, for over a century, but he’d have to be some kind of monster not to appreciate what Lina and Grams are doing for him here! “… Thank you.” Throwing on a half-hearted smile, he leans back and laughs. “I really appreciate it, y’know?”

“Great.” Wolfwood laughs, too, scratching a fingernail against the burn mark on his teacup. “You have no idea what a relief all this is! The guy can’t go five minutes without somebody trying to put a hit out on him. It’s real tiring, trying to keep him out of trouble, but considering how long he lasted out here with you the two of you, I figure he must listen to you better.”

“Perhaps he does.” Grandma winks at Vash and Vash groans under his breath. Seriously? Now she’s babying him, too. “So, Mr. Preacher—I feel as though I have to ask. Given your… intimate knowledge with the situation, and your connection to Eriks…” Suddenly, she goes quiet, looking less certain than Vash can ever remember seeing her. It’s like she can’t decide how to put whatever she’s trying to say, and when she actually comes out and says it, Vash understands why she hesitated. “… Could it be that you had something to do with this?”

Wolfwood hacks violently, hunching over the table as Vash laughs into his hand. Sure, that was a blow to his pride, too, but he’s almost getting numb to _that_ feeling. “Christ, Granny! You trying to give me a heart attack?” Wincing, he wipes his mouth with a frilly, lacy napkin. “No, he did this to himself. Some _plant_ thing.”

Vash sees both Lina and Grandma’s faces light up with curiosity, but before either of them can start to pry, Wolfwood interrupts.

“Well—“ Vash starts as the other man jumps up from the table. “I should really be on my way. Thanks for everything you’re doing here—seriously!”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re leaving already.” Grams sounds completely casual, which is strange, because Vash feels like his heart’s about to burn its way through his ribcage. “Stay for dinner, why don’t you?” Seriously? Wolfwood’s actually gonna leave him to deal with this all alone? Sure, Vash knew he wasn’t going to stay forever, but he figured he’d have a few days to get settled before his only friend out here completely abandoned him. Hell, he doesn’t know. Maybe he’s just being selfish, expecting Wolfwood to always be there to help Vash deal with the crazy stuff he’s constantly getting caught up in.

“Ehh…” The next second seems to last three times longer than it should. Vash’s heart is in his throat, and even though he feels like a helpless kid, getting this emotional over being left ‘alone’, he can’t seem to stop himself from feeling that way. “Yeah. Alright. Couldn’t hurt to fill up before I head out.”

“Perfect.” Grams beams, getting up and gathering all their cups and saucers before giving Lina a small nudge on the shoulder. Lina jumps, then remembers that she’s apparently supposed to help, following her grandmother into the kitchen with an armful of dishes.

“You don’t have to stay, you know.” Vash gets up, giving Wolfwood a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine!”

“That’s debatable,” Wolfwood huffs. “Besides, I’m only staying for tonight, and then I’ll be out of that collection of broomstick bristles you call hair.” He pulls another cigarette out of his pocket, moving to head outside again. Vash figures he must be stressed—Wolfwood always smokes like the world’s ending, but even he normally waits more than two minutes between lighting the next one up. “And stop trying to make me feel bad for you.”

“Huh?” Vash cocks his head in confusion.

Wolfwood leers, pointing at his mouth. It takes Vash a second, but he understands what Wolfwood means eventually. Right. His ‘fake smile.’

Studying him, Wolfwood pauses with a hand on the door frame. “You’ll be fine, you know.”

“Yeah.” Vash still feels queasy, and he wonders if it’s just the same old symptoms, or because he feels completely let down. “I know.”


	8. Feathers

Vash is staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out where he is. His vision’s hazy. Foggy. When his brain finally starts processing what he sees, he realizes the whole room is made up of green tiles. There are masses of wires taped across the floor and going up the walls, and harsh, fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling. Vash tries to sit up, but it’s like dragging his body out of thick, pasty mud. His muscles fight him until he finally manages to stay upright. His brain is sloshing around in his head and he feels dizzy and sick. When he hears a thin, bird-like cry, he doesn’t even react at first.

Slowly, like an afterthought, he looks towards the tiny plastic container next to him. As soon as he focuses on it, his stomach burns and aches. Wincing, he moves one slow, lead-heavy arm to clutch at the rim, leaning over to look inside. There isn’t much to see. Just a small bundle of sterile cloth, wriggling and mewling pitifully. Vash’s throat is itchy and tight as he reaches out, slowly prying the blanket open.

He throws himself off the mattress, suddenly awake—for real, this time—covered in sweat, and shaking as he sucks in air.

“Whuhhh…” There’s a groan from the other side of the room and Vash realizes it’s Wolfwood. “What the hell, Needlenoggin?”

Where is he? For a second, Vash thinks they’re at a motel, but he can’t remember where or why. But after a minute, his heart stops pounding and it comes trickling back. That’s right. They’re at Lina and Grandma’s. One thing led to another, and Grandma ended up drinking Wolfwood under the table. Or, onto the table, since that’s where he ended up passing out. Vash had to carry him up to the one and only guest room after convincing Lina that she didn’t have to run and get someone to help, and that hauling one drunk jackass up the stairs wouldn’t give him a heart attack in his ‘delicate’ state.

There’s shuffling in the dark, and for a moment, Vash thinks Wolfwood’s just going to go back to sleep. Then he mumbles, “Bad dream, huh?”

“Yeah.” Vash closes his eyes, and a picture of what was in that blanket flashes through his head. It was some tumorous, wiggling lump, covered in feathers and eyes, with a glistening carapace. Like some malformed, infected, _severed_ angel arm. “That’s… kind of an understatement.” Sinking back down, he puts his hands over his stomach, skin prickling as he curls his fingers around the bump. He’s completely exhausted. It feels like he hasn’t slept in days. Of course, now his mind’s going an ile a minute, and won’t let sleep happen, no matter how much he might need it. “I was… I was, uh… thinking. About what I should do when this is all over.”

“Well, think fast.” From the way his voice gets muffled, Vash assumes Wolfwood’s burying his face in his pillow.

“If the…” He doesn’t want to say ‘baby’. That word’s just… It’s too much. Vash thinks he’d be jinxing it—and after that dream, he doesn’t want to take any risks. “I think I should find somebody to take care of it. Someone like… Like them.”

“Oh, sure. Give the kid to an eighty-year-old and a preteen.” The disgust is obvious in Wolfwood’s tone. “They’re helping you out enough as is. Even _I_ know that’d be asking too much. And FYI, you’re not dumping it at the orphanage, either.”

“I just… I think it should have a good home. Someone to take care of it who’d be…” Better than Vash. “Who would know what they’re doing.”

“I don’t get it. Your bounty’s gone, your brother’s dead—throw away that red coat, and nobody’ll even know who you are.” Just like that, Wolfwood knocked out a few of Vash’s best arguments. “You’d jump in front of a bullet for a murderer; you really think an innocent kid won’t be safe with you?”

“… Not with my luck.” That knot of muscle is back, bunching up in the middle of his throat. “I can’t save everyone, Wolfwood.” Without his bounty, or Knives, chances are better, but still. “People aren’t safe with me.”

“Yeah?” Wolfwood yawns. Either he’s tired, or he’s bored—probably both. “ _Safe?_ Vash, you brought me back from the _dead.”_ He lets out a slightly hysterical chuckle. “That makes me feel pretty goddamn safe, Vash. Hell, that makes me feel invincible!”

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” grumbles Vash dryly.

“Listen for a minute, brush-head. And then shut up, so you don’t wake our gracious hosts.” Taking a deep breath, Wolfwood says the next bit slowly. “If this kid… really is a kid, and some… perfect copy of you, it’ll be a plant. _Your_ kind of plant. You’re the only other thing like that on this entire planet!” Vash can’t see great in this light, but he swears he can feel Wolfwood’s eyes boring into him. “Are you really gonna try and convince me anybody else is prepared to raise it? You’re always going on and on about how great that Rem woman was. And if she had to raise _two_ of you, I can see why—she’d have to be a fucking saint. In the time it’d take you to find somebody _else_ up to the task, the kid’ll be as old as I am.”

Vash… doesn’t have an answer to that, so he stays silent.

“And if you’re really scared of getting the brat killed, I want you to think for a second. We all made it this far because of you. The girls are still fine thanks to you, and I— _Jesus Christ_ , this is weird to say, but—when I _died_ , it was because of Knives. Because of Chapel. And I guarantee, if you’d been in that room with me, I never would’ve been shot at all.” Wolfwood turns the lamp on, and, sure enough, he’s staring at Vash. “And… Rem. What about her? Do you _seriously_ think she’d approve of you dumping this brat on some poor, hapless idiot the first chance you get?”

Swallowing, Vash turns to give Wolfwood a weak glare. It doesn’t have a lot of venom in it—Vash doesn’t have a lot of venom in him, period—but he has to admit, Wolfwood’s making more sense than he thought he would. Still. Bringing Rem into it was a low blow.

“Needlenoggin, just…” Slumping against the pillows, Wolfwood closes his eyes halfway and mumbles. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just _maybe_ , things are gonna turn out okay?”

“Yeah.” Vash forces a laugh and Wolfwood looks pissed off all over again. “It’d be nice if that were true.”

“It is true, jackass.” The light shuts off. “Now go the hell to sleep.”

* * *

The sun’s way too bright this morning. It makes Vash’s eyelids sting, and he fights the urge to wake up for as long as he can. But then, he thinks of how he’s going to feel like he’s wandering through a fog if he sleeps in any more, and _that_ makes him remember his dream, so he forces himself to get up, rolling out of bed with a groan. At first, he’s ready to head downstairs in nothing but slacks and an undershirt, but one glance at himself tells him that’s not a good idea. Or maybe just an idea he’s uncomfortable with. The shirt clings to him too tightly, showing the outline of his swollen chest (which kinda looks like something Vash doesn’t want to put a name to) and the slight curve of his belly. He can practically hear Wolfwood’s voice in the back of his head, telling him how that’s a _good_ thing; it’d give Granny and Lina the proof they need, but Vash doesn’t see why he should worry about proof when they obviously trust him. And—hey! He’s not lying.

Sighing, he rummages around the room until he finds an oversized button-up in his duffel bag, pulling it on and fastening the buttons sleepily. Hm. Wolfwood’s probably gone by now. If not, he’s just waiting around for Vash to get downstairs so he can say goodbye and finally get back to Bernardelli. And Vash _completely_ understands why he wants to get going! He has a life, and something kind of like a job, and plenty of obligations. Even though he’s apparently more than happy to use them as a bunch of scapegoats, he really does have a whole church-full of orphans to look after. (Now that he thinks about it, it’s no wonder why he’s been so unsympathetic about Vash has been freaking out.)

… And that’s fine! Vash has been on his own for months, maybe even years at a time. He makes new friends all the time, and he’s never stayed in one place for too long. So what if Wolfwood’s leaving? Vash doesn’t want to sound cruel, but saying he cares more about Wolfwood, Meryl, and Millie than anyone else would be stupid! And not just stupid, kind of... _mean_. To the people he’s known for way longer—all the people who have helped him out even more than they have.

Besides, it’s not true! He loves them. Of course he does! He loves… almost everybody. People are just amazing like that. You can find the good in anybody if you look hard enough. So there’s no reason for Vash to drag this out any longer than he has to.

Fastening the final button, he glances into the mirror. He looks tired, with bags under his eyes, and he’s always thought his hair looks funny without any gel in it, but at least the shirt hides his new figure pretty well. Giving his reflection a grin, he shoots a sleepy finger gun at himself, then steps out of the door and hurries down the stairs.

“Hey, you’re up!” Lina basically tackles him, knocking the wind out of him and almost throwing him against the wall. “You slept in really late.”

“I did?” Vash laughs weakly, trying to wiggle free of Lina’s grip and wincing subtly when her arm tightens around his belly. “ _Oof.”_

“Well, we’re glad you’re settling in.” Granny pads up behind them, tugging on the back of Lina’s shirt so she’ll let Vash go.

“There’s settling in, and there’s going into a coma.” Jerking his head up in surprise, Vash turns to stare at Wolfwood, who’s sitting casually at the dining room table. Curling his lip a little, Wolfwood gives him some kind of confused sneer. “What? What’s with that face?”

“You, uhh…” He’s still here? “I… thought you’d be gone by now.”

“Yeesh.” Picking at his chin, Wolfwood picks up a piece of toast, waving it around absentmindedly as he talks. “Would it kill you to act like you’re happy to see me?”

“Probably not.” Vash shrugs as he drops down at the table across from Wolfwood. “But hey—why take the chance?”

“Ha ha ha.” Wolfwood rolls his eyes, then shoves a piece of toast in Vash’s face. “Cram this in your mouth, why don’t you?”

“Sorry.” Dropping the toast on an empty plate, Vash starts to spread some butter on top. “It’s just… You made it pretty clear you didn’t want to come here. I figured you’d be gone as soon as possible.”

“So?” Wolfwood pours a huge glob of honey into his tea. “Can’t I have a change of heart?”

“You can’t have a change of heart if you don’t have one to begin with.” Grabbing at his chest, Wolfwood mimes like he’s been mortally wounded, and Vash can’t help but laugh.

“Relax, alright?” Glancing into the kitchen, Wolfwood watches Lina busily scrubbing dishes as Granny stirs the eggs, then leans over towards Vash, whispering, “Between you and me, it wasn’t my idea.” He shrugs. “Ohh, sure. I was ready to head out first thing this morning! I knew you weren’t gonna miss me. But then that old woman grabbed me by the arm and took me aside.”

Turning to make sure Granny and Lina still aren’t listening in, Vash shoots Wolfwood a suspicious look. “She did?”

“Oh, yeah.” Hands clasped together, Wolfwood puts on what Vash can only assume is supposed to be an ‘old lady voice’. “She was all, ‘Mr. Preacher, please! You have to stay for just a little longer, until Needlenoggin gets settled in. We can’t handle the responsibility of looking after such a maniac without any help!’”

“She did _not_ say that,” grumbles Vash.

“Well,” says Wolfwood, scratching his cheek thoughtfully, “I’m paraphrasing.”

“Yeah, that’s one word for it.” Vash can’t picture Grams asking Wolfwood to do something like that. This is the same woman who let Vash stay here, rent free, depressed and basically braindead, for half a year! There’s no way she has a problem with keeping him around in the shape he is _now._ “What’s really going on? Finally planning on giving your confessional business a real storefront?”

“Damn. Stop playing dumb all the time, all right?” Wolfwood shudders exaggeratedly. “Makes it _creepy_ when you catch on so fast.” He waves his hand dismissively, then points a finger at Vash. “Bodyguard.”

“Huh?” Vash blinks.

“ _Bodyguard,_ Needlenoggin. She hired me to be your bodyguard.” He leans over and jabs Vash right in the chest, right where he probably knows it’s tender, and Vash recoils with a hissy, high-pitched gasp. “Now, I’m not gonna be the one to break that old lady’s heart by ditching my very dear friend, who’s in an extremely delicate situation, just because I don’t need the money. Money she probably spent months—maybe years!—scraping together for just this sort of emergency.” Throwing his hands in the air like he’s surrendering, Wolfwood goes on. “But hey! If you wanna bite the bullet on that one, be my guest.”

Vash stares in disbelief, a faint blush crawling over his cheeks as it hits him. Grams really cares about him, doesn’t she? Lina, too. They care a whole lot, considering they’ve only known Vash for six months. They saw Vash take on a building full of gang members, save Lina, and come out without a scratch on him (well, not any new ones). But somehow, they’re still worried he can’t take care of himself. Or maybe, they’re as worried about Vash going through this whole… _process_ as Vash himself is.

“Mm. That’s what I thought.” When Wolfwood pipes up, Vash realizes how long he’s been quiet, and he blushes even more. “Guess our little slumber party’s gonna continue indefinitely.”

“Indefinitely?” Vash cocks an eyebrow. “How much did she pay you?”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Wolfwood wags a finger at him. “That’s confidential. And if anyone asks, this conversation never happened.”

“Y’know, I gotta say. If you’re my bodyguard, then I’m your client. And—“ There’s a huge pile of donuts on a plate in the center of the table, and Vash is sick of just eyeing them, so he shoves one in his mouth whole. “—I gotta say, I’m not loving the service so far!”

“Oh? Yeah? In that case, you can, uhh—you can take it up with my complaints department.” Wolfwood sounds way too earnest, so Vash knows exactly what’s coming. He isn’t the least bit surprised when the other man slowly raises his middle finger with a childish leer. “Which is—look! Look before the kid gets back in here. It’s riiiiiight over here, pal.”


	9. Bleeding Hearts

“It’s a little hard to tell, and perhaps I’m shooting myself in the foot here, but…” The doc presses his palm a little harder against Vash’s stomach, and if Vash felt less weirded out, he might want to laugh. But half-naked, lying on a freezing cold medical table, Vash doesn’t have it in him to chuckle. “I think things are progressing very well! From what I can tell—any, uh, unusual sexual characteristics excluded—this seems like a very straightforward pregnancy.”

“Straightforward?” Vash whines as he sits up, watching the doc pack up his bag. He doesn’t want to be ungrateful, since the old man came all the way out here to check up on him, but this hasn’t been fun. And despite what the little guy says, Vash can’t think of one single part of this that seems _normal_. It’s only been a month since Vash started staying at Lina’s, and he’s already… _huge_. The doc says it makes perfect sense that this would be fast, since Vash and Knives were physically around ten-years-old by their first birthday, but that doesn’t mean it’s not freaky! It was totally different when he was a kid because _he_ didn’t know he was growing extra fast back then. He just thought it was normal, especially since Knives was the same way.

None of that holds a candle to waking up every morning with a stomach that’s just the tiniest bit bigger, and a body that’s just _slightly_ different from the night before. Especially since, in the beginning, this all seemed so gradual. But not anymore. Every part of his body looks different. His hip bones hurt, and Vash can only assume they’ve spread out, since his pants have gotten a lot tighter in weird places. The swelling in his chest has only gotten worse, and he could’ve done without the part where that metal grate holding an old wound closed just… popped out one morning. (He found it in his bed and yelled so loud he woke Wolfwood up from a dead sleep.) So far, though, the worst part is his stomach. It’s so… _in the way_. Vash has never had this much trouble moving around—even just reaching for things across the table, or getting up from a chair has gotten harder to do—and it terrifies him. Some of the worst injuries he’s had come close; he’s had to spend a long time recovering before. But it was never this long, and if something happened and he _needed_ to move, he’d always been able to push through the pain.

Weirdly, though, the way it—uh—

The way _it_ … moves doesn’t bother him. And ‘it’ moves a lot. Always jabbing him, making the skin on his belly shift around like some creepy worm crawled under his skin. Sure, he’s seen stranger stuff, even on his own body, but something about this process is different. Maybe because what’s inside him isn’t really a part of him. It’s its own little… _thing,_ living under his skin. He got pretty mad when Wolfwood started comparing him to a walking plant bulb, but honestly, it’s not a bad comparison. And it’s kinda funny that the grossest part of all is the part that he can actually stomach. Maybe it has something to do with how he swears he can see a few… _normal_ body parts. Or at least the really vague, unclear version of those parts poking out from under all the skin and muscle. Regular looking feet and hands, knees and elbows…

It’s reassuring. And it means it’s probably not a monster. Hopefully.

“By my estimation, if you were a normal w…” The doc trails off when Vash gives him a sour look. “ _Person_ , you would be somewhere around the seventh month.” Vash’s heart does a shocked, jumpy lurch. Sure, he probably should’ve guessed that much, with how round he feels, but it’s still scary to hear it said out loud. “That means you need to take it easy, and start getting your affairs in order. This child could very well be here within the next few weeks.”

Vash instantly thinks it: he’s not ready. But he forces himself to swallow his panic and just… nod. “… Thanks, Professor.”

Shouldering his bag, the doc gives him a warm smile, like he knows how badly Vash needs a little comfort. “I’ve got a few things to sort out back home, but I’ll return as soon as possible. I’d like to be here for the birth; can’t trust just anyone to know how to handle your unique biology.” He puts a hand on Vash’s shoulder as he sits up, giving it a fatherly sort of pat. “I’m hoping to hear from an expert in plants who may be able to give me some advice, and I have a few more prototypes to fix up. After I’ve finished with that, I’ll head back here immediately.”

Vash nods to show he’s… sort of listening, grimacing as he reaches for his clothes.

That’s… the other part. The part Vash _really_ hates. It was Wolfwood’s idea, because of course it was. And Vash knows the other man has a point about it being less conspicuous, and how putting on a disguise is safer for the ‘sapling’, but _still_ …

It’s… a _dress._ Every time Vash wakes up, after he stands around in his sleep clothes, picturing sticking Wolfwood in a headlock for a minute or two, he has to ask himself _again_ how Wolfwood actually talked him into this. Sure, his argument was decent. Nobody’s gonna believe that Vash the Stampede went into hiding dressed in drag, and most people won’t go out of their way to hurt a woman, especially not a pregnant one, but—

Damn it, isn’t his dignity worth a little more than this!?

“I’ll be leaving now, Vash.” The doc snaps him out of it, and Vash watches him give a good-natured wave before stepping outside. Vash knows he should probably hurry; they basically rented this room from the town doctor so they’d have all the medical equipment they need, plus a private room. But the _local_ doctor still needs his office back, so Vash reluctantly gets to it. He pulls his trousers on—they’re too warm, and they don’t fit right on his hips anymore, plus they look weird with the dress, but this was the one thing Vash wouldn’t back down on. He’ll wear the dress, but the pants _stay._ After that, he braces himself against the exam table, using it to keep his balance as he shoves his feet into a pair of loose boots. They fit a lot better than his usual pair, since his ankles are all puffed up these days.

Finally, he makes a gagging, puking gesture, flailing his arms like his skin’s gonna slough off the minute he touches the thing (even though there’s nobody else in the room to see him) before he tugs the dress over his head. He wishes he could say that it looked like, say, Millie’s overcoat, or just a really long shirt, but it’s closer to something a housewife or waitress would wear. All… _fitted._ When Wolfwood brought the dress idea up the first time, Vash pointed out that plenty of women wear pants! A dress would be pointless, since they didn’t have to go _that_ far. Besides, the most important part of his ‘disguise’—his stomach _—_ would be totally real. But then Lina pointed out that, if he just went around in his normal clothes with his hair down, everyone would see him as Eriks. And the people who knew Eriks as a friend would be awfully concerned and curious about why he was getting so round in the middle all of a sudden. Not to mention the fact that ‘Eriks’ made more than a few enemies the last time he was here.

In the end, Wolfwood won that argument. Vash is never gonna admit that out loud, and he’s never got admit that it’s been working out pretty well, either. Because, even if he’s safer, Vash _hates_ this. The way his body is right now, the clothes he’s wearing—he’s even kind of sad that nobody recognizes him anymore.

So, yeah—when he leaves the clinic, he’s more than a little pissed off. Wolfwood, who’s been waiting outside, doesn’t help, especially when he gives a sarcastic wolf-whistle as Vash waddles out.

“Why are you still here?” He knows everything he’s saying is gonna fall on deaf ears, but even if Vash can’t get Wolfwood to back off, he’s not gonna make this easy on him. “All I have to do is walk back to the house. I can handle myself for ten minutes!”

“Oh, you’d think that!” Wolfwood turns his cat-calling whistle into a casual one, strolling alongside Vash and putting an arm around his shoulder. “But I’ve seen plenty of behavior from you that says otherwise.” Each time Vash squirms and tries to get away, Wolfwood drags him even closer, until Vash’s struggling starts looking more and more like a hostage situation. “Y’know, Needlenoggin, I gotta say:” Letting go of Vash’s shoulder, he reaches down, giving Vash’s stomach a pat before the other man can stop him. “Millie pulled the look off a hell of a lot better than you do.”

“ _GAAAAAH!”_ Vash _leaps_ back, twitching in disgust as he stares at Wolfwood in horror. A bunch of people stop what they’re doing to gawk at them, and Vash hunches his shoulders, slowly turning red. “D-Don’t touch me there.” It’s way too weird!

“Sorry! Sorry. Here.” Wolfwood claps a hand on Vash’s back, guiding him towards the little downtown area. “I’ll make it up to you. How about some of those stupid donuts you never get sick of?”

“ _You’re_ stupid,” huffs Vash, insulted. “Don’t you know anything? If it’s really good food, you can never get sick of it.”

“Well, if you were gonna get tired of ‘em, I guess it would’ve happened by now.” Wolfwood ruffles his hair as they step inside the restaurant, and Vash glowers up at him. Great! He almost forgot. No—actually, he _did_ forget, but things like what Wolfwood just did keep reminding him. Lina shaved his hair down to almost nothing after Grams pointed out how he _still_ looked like Eriks (but in a dress). He wouldn’t have minded a trim, sure, but—damn it, it’s too short! It looks just like Knives’, and every time Vash glances in the mirror, he nearly has a heart attack. “So you’re the authority on that, grandpa.”

“Huh?” Vash blinks, realizing he already forgot what Wolfwood was just teasing him about.

“Come _on_ , Vash.” Wolfwood gives him another shove towards an empty table, kind of like a dog herding a braindead sheep, and Vash grumbles before shuffling forward. “I’m trying to do something nice for you. Might as well pay attention, since this’ll be the last time it happens for a while.”

“Oh, wow. You’re a real saint.” Vash pulls the chair out, then… pulls it out more, just so he doesn’t bump his stomach into the table while sitting down. (Because that’s something that happens to him now if he’s not careful.) Easing onto the seat, he watches Wolfwood go up to the counter to order. For some reason, he can’t concentrate, and when he glances to his side, he sees why. A little boy’s just gawking at him, refusing to take his eyes off Vash to the point where he keeps missing his mouth whenever he tries to take a bite of his pancakes. After watching all this for a couple seconds, Vash starts panicking. Shit! This disguise was stupid! _Beyond_ stupid. They were all idiots thinking it was going to work. Obviously, this kid recognizes him from the last time he was here, or maybe from another town where Vash played with him. Either way, he knows who Vash is, and he’s about to tell the whole restaurant.

“Don’t stare,” his mother scolds him, reaching out to forcefully turn the kid’s head away. Vash can hear him whispering loudly in response—the way all kids whisper because they know they _should_ be whispering, but they still can’t understand how quiet a whisper is supposed to be.

“How come that lady looks like that?”

Lady _?_ Guuuuhh. Vash knows it’s technically a good thing the boy thinks that, but mostly, it’s just humiliating. He tries to tune the words all out, but it’s like his brain won’t let him. He hears their whole conversation in perfect, painful detail. “Because she’s going to have a baby.” The mom says that, and it all dissolves—probably backfires in that woman’s case—into an unprepared talk about the birds and the bees. Just overhearing this random mother struggle to explain that to her young kid is almost more embarrassing than having the whole town think he’s female from just one glance. By the time Wolfwood makes his way back over to Vash’s table, Vash is hunched forward, shielding his face with one hand so maybe this random woman won’t hold a grudge towards him for the rest of her life. All for being… _pregnant_ and sitting near her son.

“What’s the matter with you?” As soon as he sits down, Vash grabs the box of donuts and props it up on its side like a shield.

“Nothing! Just—maybe we should move tables.” Or maybe they should try and wait it out? How much longer can this mom go on for, right? She’s gotta be done soon.

“Well, _that’s_ not happening. It takes you ten minutes to stand up on your own.” Wolfwood sets the box back down the right way and opens it, fishing out the plainest donut he can find.

“You don’t have to rub it in.” Vash watches Wolfwood chew for a second, trying to figure out why that’s bugging him. “And what’re—hey! I thought these were supposed to be for _me.”_

“They are!” The other man finishes his donut, then dusts the crumbs off his hands. “I just took out the service tax.”

“Service tax?” Is he kidding right now? Vash wraps his arms around the box defensively, pulling it towards his side of the table. “You’ve got a real funny idea of how gift-giving works.”

Wolfwood groans, yanking a cigarette out of his jacket and basically chomping down on it. “You gonna eat ‘em or not?”

“I was getting to it!” whines Vash. It’s funny that Wolfwood mentioned that, acutally—Vash feels sick of a lot of things these days, but he’s happy to say that donuts haven’t made him queasy even once. “There’s no way I was gonna miss out on these.” He picks one up with a sugar glaze, waving it around and then stuffing it in his mouth. “Theshe arhe one off a kine!” Swallowing so he can speak clearly, he explains, “These are pumpkin cinnamon. You can’t get this flavor anywhere else on Gunsmoke!”

“You’ve been wandering around for over a century, and this is the info you hold onto?” Wolfwood makes a weird face, like he’d be punching Vash in the arm if it wouldn’t look horrible to the other customers. He ends up lighting his cigarette instead, leaning back and blowing the smoke to one side. Normally, he wouldn’t bother—hell, sometimes he blows it in Vash’s face just to be an asshole—but lately, he’s been trying to keep it away from him. Not to the extent that he actually gets up and goes outside, but still. It’s a pretty big step for the guy who goes through two packs a day, and Vash appreciates it, even if he knows Wolfwood’s only doing it because he has a soft spot for kids. “Heh. Y’know, Needlenoggin, that’s probably why you’re still around after all this time.”

Vash straightens up, caught off-guard. “Huh?”

“You never focus on the big picture. All you care about is the little stuff. People, places, _food_.” His hand bobs up and down, shaking the ash off the end of his cigarette. “Guess it makes sense. If all you thought about was how long you’ve been doing this for—just fighting to stay alive on this hellhole—you probably would’ve offed yourself years ago.”

Knuckles clenching, Vash grumbles, “Don’t joke about that.”

It’s obvious Wolfwood doesn’t feel he went too far, but he doesn’t try and push it, either. “Sorry.” Sighing, he slouches again, going limp as he takes another drag. Then he sticks his arm out, not even straightening up to grind his cigarette into the ash tray. “It was supposed to be a compliment. Just, uhh… Just forget it.”

Vash wants to roll his eyes after that. Man! Even if he was trying to lighten the mood, Wolfwood knows how he feels about suicide. Still, he knows Wolfwood’s trying to be nice. And even if it’s definitely because Millie’s guilting him into it, not because Wolfwood’s trying to ‘improve himself’ _,_ it definitely goes against the guy’s nature. Maybe Vash should try and be patient with him. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Ehh. Don’t worry about it.” Wolfwood waves his hand like he can fan this conversation away with the smoke he’s been blowing. “Why don’t you fork one of those pumpkin things over? I wanna see if it’s worth the hype.”

“Is this still part of the service tax?” Vash hands one over like it’s killing him, feeling genuinely proud when that gets a smirk out of Wolfwood. “This feels more like a bank robbery.”

“Perfect!” Wagging the donut above his head, Wolfwood grins even wider. “You should feel right at home.”

This time, Vash really does roll his eyes, but things feel better already. Less tense. “Did you hear anything from Millie yet?” Last Vash knew, her assignment with Meryl was running long, and they’d had to extend their stay for another few weeks. Apparently, Millie was pretty happy about Wolfwood hanging around Vash. (Which Vash only knows because Wolfwood wouldn’t stop complaining about it. All ‘doesn’t she miss me?’ this and ‘shouldn’t she feel bad for me?” that.)

“Mmm.” Wolfwood looks like he’s enjoying the donut a lot, but Vash knows he won’t say that out loud. “Said she and Meryl should get out here by the end of the week. Oh, and when I told Meryl you’d been taking pretty good care of yourself, she said, and I quote, ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’”

“Oof. That’s cold.” Seriously, Meryl? Vash managed just fine for a hundred and thirty years before she came along! (Okay, with a lot of scars, and a missing arm, and he almost died once or twice, but like he said, that was all over a really long time! If you squish it all together in one list, of course it’s gonna sound bad!)

“Aw, come on. She’s just worried about you.” Wolfwood leans forward like he’s sharing a secret. “Girls are just like that! They stress out for no good reason. That’s how you know they really care.” As he’s explaining that, he reaches over and grabs at Vash’s face. Vash is so stunned he doesn’t even stop it, staring dumbly like a Tomas in headlights as Wolfwood brushes the donut crumbs off his cheeks.

Mouth hanging open, Vash can’t even find his voice at first. “Uh.” Okay, he’s gonna try that again. “What are you doing?” When the guy reached for him like that, Vash was expecting to get whapped on the side of the head or something! Not… _this_.

“Huh?” Wolfwood doesn’t even seem like he heard what Vash just said, zoning out and pulling his arm away. And then, just when the bulb seems to turn back on in the other man’s head, Vash hears a gunshot go off. Then another, and another—

Wolfwood yells something as Vash throws himself away from the table, ignoring the way his stomach almost clips the edge so he can start sprinting towards the door. He shoves it open and follows the sounds, running towards the town square and yelping as somebody grabs him from behind and yanks him into an alleyway.

“Are you insane?” It’s Wolfwood, panting like he just ran a marathon. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Helping!” Vash doesn’t know what’s going on out there, and he doesn’t know how bad the situation’s gonna be, but that doesn’t matter. He’s not gonna waste time worrying about it, which is why he kicks Wolfwood in the shin. _Hard_. Wolfwood yelps, grip on Vash loosening for a split second, and Vash doesn’t think twice.

He barrels out of the alleyway as fast as he can, rushing back towards the sounds of gunfire.


	10. Expiration Dates

Vash makes to the edge of the town square before he stumbles to a halt about a hundred ards away, staring at the two gunmen—well, one gunman and one gun- _woman_ —as they circle each other slowly, weapons raised. Most of the people in town are here, but Vash can barely see them; they’re all hiding behind barrels or in alleyways, because, from the looks of it, these two have been shooting all over the place. But it wasn’t until Vash got closer that he really understood why: even though they clearly know how to use their guns, these two… really don’t wanna hit each other!

“You hear me, missy?” Vash blinks, glancing down when he realizes the old man who runs the general store is talking to him from under his porch. “Get down before you lose somethin’ important!”

“Aww.” Vash shrugs, smiling down at the poor old guy. “Thanks for worrying about me, but I’ll be okay.”

He starts walking again, wincing when the next gunshot goes whizzing through a street sign just a couple feet from his head. They aren’t even looking where they’re shooting! The general store owner calls out after him at first, but gives up pretty quickly when Vash doesn’t respond. Moving carefully and being sure not to pull any sudden movements, Vash finally makes it within earshot. 

“And with _her?”_ The woman’s sniffling so hard her revolver’s shaking, but she refuses to take her eyes off the man, not even to wipe her tears. “O-Out of everybody in town—I mean, I could’ve understood, I think, if it was anybody else. But that _bitch?”_

“Y-You don’t understand! It— _listen_ , Darla. It ain’t what you think.” On the other hand, the man she’s talking to looks more scared than upset, sweating and dabbing at his forehead with his sleeve rolled up over his hand. “She was just… She was just there f-for somethin’… _completely_ different than what it looked like. That was just bad timin’! That’s all.”

“Bullshit!” She turns her head and spits, and Vash freezes before taking another step when he’s sure they haven’t noticed him. There has to be something he can do to calm them down, right? Honestly, as far as he can tell, it just seems like they need to talk it over. “She ain’t got no reason to be at your house in nothin’ but her skivvies. You already made a damn fool of yourself. _Least_ you could do is own up to it and save yourself from even more embarrassment.”

Vash sees movement out of the corner of his eye—there are a few people crouched by a thomas pen, waving at him with huge, exaggerated gestures: ‘go hide’ and ‘get down’ are pretty easy to make out. It’s kinda funny—Vash is used to people saying that kind of thing to him, but there are a lot more people than usual who seem concerned. Well, Vash knows exactly why, but honestly, it seems like even more of a reason to try and make peace! If the other townspeople don’t want to see him get hurt, then these two shouldn’t be any different.

“GOD DAMN IT, NEEDLENOGGIN!”

Annnnnd he’d better make it snappy! Turning to look over his shoulder and grin at Wolfwood, who’s sprinting full-tilt towards him, Vash trots up to the woman with his hands raised to show he’s not a threat. _Obviously_. “Hey there! I know you’re really upset, but it’s not worth bringing guns into it, okay? Why don’t you just sit down and talk it out with your—“ Well, this isn’t really the right word, but— “— _friend_ over there?”

“What the hell?” The man, who turned to gawk at Wolfwood when he started shouting, whips around to face Vash, gun still raised. “B-Back off! This ain’t any of your business.”

“Vash!” Wolfwood’s sounding more stressed now, and he skids to a stop just a few feet away. Vash ignores both him and the other man, scooting closer to the woman.

“You seem like a pretty nice guy,” he says. Then, just to play things up—might as well take advantage of the situation, right?—he puts a hand on his stomach lightly, asking, “You wouldn’t shoot a pregnant lady, would you?”

That seems to catch him off guard, so Vash reaches out to touch the woman—gently, just on her shoulder, but that’s when things go south.

In the next split second, three things happen. One: Vash realizes his senses must be dulled right now, because he can’t tell where the gunshots are headed _nearly_ as well as he’s used to. Two: Wolfwood lets out this terrifying, gut-wrenching yell. And three: a bullet lodges deep into his good shoulder, with enough force to knock him right off his feet.

_Damn it_ , that hurts! It’s not the worst Vash has ever felt, sure, but it stings like hell! Gritting his teeth, he grabs at his shoulder, yelping under his breath as he clenches his hand around the wound to try and stop the bleeding. Again, the pain’s not that bad, but it’s enough to keep him distracted and lying on his back for a few seconds too long. He only knows something’s wrong when he starts squinting from a sudden, blinding light, and hears the townspeople all around them shouting and scrambling for cover. Head snapping up, Vash feels his jaw drop as his heart just _stops._

Wolfwood’s arm is outstretched, aimed directly at the man who just shot Vash, but it stops looking like a normal arm around the elbow. The rest of the limb seems to be what Vash can only think to call a miniature angel’s arm. It’s messy, misshapen, and pulsating light leaks out all over, but it’s still unmistakable. At first, Vash is so busy gawking with everybody else, he forgets that Wolfwood has that thing pointed at somebody, and by the looks of it, he’s about to shoot.

“NO!” Vash clenches his teeth, biting back a scream of pain as he pulls himself to his knees, half-falling forward to grab at Wolfwood’s jacket. Wolfwood jolts, going stiff from head to toe as the light behind his eyes seems to turn back on. “D-Don’t. W-Wolfwood, don’t…” He can feel his arm starting to ooze blood again, now that he’s not holding the wound, but he stays right where he is, fingers digging in tighter.

A shiver runs through Wolfwood. Just a tiny one, but then it’s followed by another, and his arm slowly drops at his side. Vash still feels the gusts of energy from the power he’s been building up, but little by little, that fades. The vague shapes reset into fingers, and before too long, Vash is staring at a perfectly ordinary human hand, limply clinging to his old revolver. Vash is going to have to take a minute to ask Wolfwood why the _hell_ he’s been holding on to that, but for now, he’s so relieved, all he can think to do is let his head flop forward with a massive sigh. It jerks back up again when there’s a loud clatter.

It’s the gunman’s pistol, dropping to the ground as he throws his hands up into the air. The woman lowers her gun, too, glancing back and forth between him and Wolfwood as her boyfriend croaks, “I surrender!”

* * *

The doctor tightens the bandages one last time, ignoring the way Vash squeaks in pain. “Well, that’ll have to do for now.” Sighing, he leans back, studying Vash like taking out that bullet was the most exhausting thing he’s done in years. Vash feels like that can’t possibly be true, but since he took Vash’s ‘real’ identity and special ‘condition’ in stride, he knows he shouldn’t complain. “I noticed a lot of your old wounds are looking better. So, tell me something, Eriks—was this really an accident, or do you just like the look of battle scars?”

“Man, doc! You’re harsh.” Vash laughs weakly, tugging his sleeve over his shoulder so he can start buttoning the smock up one-handed. “Is this really the kind of thanks I get for being a good Samaritan?”

The doctor doesn’t answer; he just grunts and gets to his feet, opening the door a crack so he can call into the hallway, “He’s all patched up. You can come in now.”

Wolfwood shoves his way in before the door’s completely open, scowling and reeking of smoke. Vash kind of wants to ask if cigarettes do anything for him anymore, even as stress relief, but now’s probably not the time. “What the hell were you thinking, huh?” He waits until the doctor leaves the room, then lunges forward, grabbing Vash by the collar and yanking him close like he’s gonna punch him in the face. “Do you _want_ to get killed? Is that it!?”

Feeling a surge of anger—is Wolfwood seriously going to talk down to him about this? Aren’t they past this sort of thing?—Vash snaps, “He was never going to kill me!” Never mind the fact that he was a lousy shot, Vash knows for a fact that a person like that isn’t the murdering type.

“Will you knock it off with that crap? Just for _once?_ ” Wolfwood’s hand goes limp and he lets go of Vash, taking a step back. “Not everybody’s as good as you say they are. You want to think everybody’s got _something_ decent in them, even if it’s just the tiniest, measliest little speck, and I get that! I do.” A couple shaky, massive breaths and he’s managed to calm down enough to stop shouting. “That’s why I take care of my kids, because I see that in them. But you know what? They grow up, Vash.” Wolfwood lifts his hand and mushes his thumb and index finger together. “That speck of good gets squashed into nothing. I used to know that. A-And you know what? You made me start to wonder.” Letting out a laugh that sounds half-crazy, he throws his arms in the air. “You made me think that maybe—maybe you were right! Maybe there’s good in everyone.” Another laugh. “Well, guess what happened right after that? Guess what happened the _same day_ you actually started to win me over?” Vash just stares at him, throat stinging. He doesn’t want to so much as blink, since it feels like he’d be giving in, even if they’re not even arguing. Doesn’t stop the next words Wolfwood says from feeling like a punch to the stomach. “I _died.”_

Vash knows he can’t say anything after that. Nothing seems good enough. There’s no right answer, no way to shut down Wolfwood’s argument, or sound sympathetic without backing down. And Vash _will not_ back down, not when he knows he’s right about this. Instead, he just stews in silence for a minute, the time dragging by as he and Wolfwood glower at each other until, finally, Vash changes the subject. “… Did you know you could do that?”

Working his jaw, Wolfwood looks away, obviously still pissed off. He’s quiet for long enough that Vash thinks he won’t answer, but then he grunts, “Do what?”

“Form an angel’s arm.” Vash swallows. “Well… _half_ an angel’s arm.” Something like that. Then he blurts out the second part—the part that’s almost bothering him more. “And why do you have my gun!?”

“So you don’t use it.” Wolfwood raises an eyebrow, like it’s obvious. Which, okay, yeah, Vash guesses it is. Still, he doesn’t like the idea of Wolfwood having gone through all his stuff to find it, and he doesn’t like how it took him so long to notice. It hasn’t been away from him for more than a day in…

Hm. It’s… been a while. He’ll leave it at that.

“Anyway,” continues Wolfwood, “to answer your first question, no. I had…” Vash hears him swallow as he looks down at his arm, like he’s scared it’s going to start contorting again if he keeps his eyes off it for too long. “I had no idea I could do something like that. Guess there are a couple perks to being a hybrid freak.”

“Are you kidding me!?” Vash slides off the exam table, hobbling over to Wolfwood and shoving him with his good arm. “You’re never doing that again if I can help it. You could’ve killed that guy! Or blown up the entire town!”

“Even if I did kill him, he would’ve had it coming,” snaps Wolfwood. Vash bristles at his attitude, wrinkling his nose angrily. Honestly, he should be kissing Vash’s feet right about now—it took a whole lot of convincing for people to buy that Wolfwood’s angel arm was just a fancy prosthetic, and that nothing too weird was going on with him. If Vash hadn’t stopped him from incinerating that gunman, there’s no way anybody would’ve bought it was a normal, souped-up, _human_ weapon. Hell, Vash wouldn’t be surprised if, somewhere down the road, this whole incident gets Wolfwood mistaken for him! … Actually, Vash kind of likes that idea. Wolfwood could definitely benefit from a little time spent in Vash’s shoes. “For God’s sake, he shot you!”

“So?” It was just in the arm! Vash has taken way worse damage than that. “You’ve seen me get shot before.”

“Are you _insane?”_ Making a disgusted noise, Wolfwood grabs at Vash’s hair, yanking on it until he yelps. “You’re not invincible, dumbass! You can still get hurt, and so could that brat you’re carting around. And contrary to what I say when I’m giving you the business, I don’t _like_ seeing my friend used for target practice.”

He says it in such a furious tone, Vash is ready to snap right back at him, but then his words actually sink in. Swallowing, Vash takes a step back as Wolfwood lets go of his hair.

“Especially not when you’re… _like this_ ,” Wolfwood mumbles. “If you’re going to go all suicide-mission on me, at least wait until you’re back in fighting shape.”

Vash tenses up, offended. “H-Hey! I might be a little slower right now, but I can still handle myself just fine.” If he’d been anyone else, this could’ve ended a lot worse than just a shot in the arm. And, if he were somebody else, this would’ve been a lot more serious, too. All in all, the outcome wasn’t bad.

“Sure, sure.” Wolfwood snatches the sling for Vash’s arm off the doctor’s desk, practically forcing Vash into it and ignoring the way he shouts in pain as Wolfwood starts tying it too tight. “I’ll buy that when you can walk without looking like a duck.”

* * *

Vash sighs, watching the clouds hover overhead. They’re always perfectly still, but round and fluffy and full. Not like on Gunsmoke. “Why do I always dream about you here?”

“I would’ve loved to visit a place like this.” He glances over at Rem as she hugs her knees, staring off into the distance. There’s nothing out there besides a rain of geranium petals, just like always, but maybe he’s wrong. Maybe there is something, but only she can see it. “I think I read about it once. A lake so full of salt that you could walk on it, with water so clear, it’s like standing on a mirror.”

Sniffing, Vash drapes an arm over his face. The sun’s still too bright, even for a dream. “Yeah, but saltwater doesn’t sound all that nice when you really think about it.”

“Come on, Vash.” Rem pushes his arm away, pushing her fingers through his hair like she used to when he was little. “Why are you always so serious when you visit?”

Vash smiles weakly, sitting up. Something about that feels weird—it’s a huge relief to sit up so easily, even if he doesn’t remember why. “Sorry.”

“You know, if you’re ever worried about anything, you can come to me.” She holds out her hand, cupping her palm so she can start catching the petals. “I might not always have the answers you’re looking for, but people should always try to help one another. Sometimes all you need is for someone to listen to your problems.”

“I’m scared,” he admits. It comes out so easily that he’s sort of embarrassed, but Rem just smiles, like she wants him to continue. “If something happens to my body… If I get so weak, or sick, or helpless that I can’t move, I wouldn’t be able to help everyone. I wouldn’t be able to do everything I _should_ be able to.” He clenches his hands into fists, fingers tensing so much that he feels his nails digging into the skin. “If I ever have to watch someone get hurt—if it was something I could’ve stopped before, but I can’t now, because of my body, I—“ A jolt runs through him and he thinks he might be panicking. “I-I’d never forgive myself.”

“Oh, Vash.” Rem hums, getting to her feet and walking away.

“Rem?” Vash watches, confused, then jumps to his feet, too. She’s moving towards the edge. The… Wait. That’s never been there before. This place is supposed to stretch on forever, like it always has. But there’s an edge, and Rem’s walking right towards it. “ _Rem!”_

She just keeps going at the same pace, and Vash breaks into a sprint, trying to catch up to her. But she’s already so far ahead, and he can’t make it in time. She leaps right off the edge, and seconds before Vash realizes there is an edge.

He digs his heels in, barely managing to stop himself from falling off into a dark, faraway scene. He watches, sweat coating every inch of himas Rem falls towards the planet below, plummeting alongside huge chunks of metal and ship debris. Flames break out around them as they hit the atmosphere, with Rem trailing, stretching one hand back towards him. He stares, throat burning, eyes stinging horribly even though the tears won’t come, frozen for a second before jumping—

_“Vash!”_

Vash heaves this horrible, ragged gasp, suddenly, uncomfortably awake. His head feels wrong, like his skull is full of cotton and his brain isn’t all the way connected to the rest of his body. He’s far away and dizzy and lightheaded, all at the same time. He hears people talking, and his heart’s thumping too loudly in his ears for him to hear what’s being said at first, but he recognizes Wolfwood leaning over his bed. Eventually, his eyes start to focus, and he can make out Lina and Granny hovering just behind him.

“… got a fever,” Wolfwood grumbles, pushing against Vash’s good shoulder. Numbly, Vash lets the other man shove him back against the pillows, licking his lips. They’re so dry, and his throat aches, but his stomach is burning like he might throw up if he tries to put anything in it. “Damn it, Needlenoggin.”

A fever, huh? No wonder he feels so bad.

“Can you hear me?” Vash winces when Wolfwood snaps his fingers right in front of his face. “Gunsmoke to Vash. You with it or what?”

“Knock it off!” Oh, _man._ His voice sounds horrible! All crackly and strained. Eugh. “I can hear you just fine.” Honestly, all he wants to do is go back to sleep, but he’s not sure his stomach will stop tossing and turning long enough to let him.

“Great.” He watches hazily as Wolfwood grabs the back of the desk chair and drags it over, waving halfheartedly at Lina and Grams. “He’s fine. You two go back to bed.”

“Ohh.” Grams doesn’t look convinced, coming to stand next to Wolfwood so she can get a better look at Vash. “Mister Preacher, are you sure?”

Snorting, Wolfwood eases down into the chair, shaking his head. “He’s seen worse, trust me.”

“I mean, we can help out,” Lina offers timidly. “… If you want.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” Wolfwood slouches, then waves them off again. “I can take care of it on my own. It’s the least I can do, especially after you two have been putting with us for so long.”

Frowning, Grams reaches out and pulls the covers higher up, smoothing them out over Vash. He’s getting too hot, honestly, but he doesn’t have the energy (or heart) to tell her no thanks. “And you’re certain you can handle it on your own?”

“You kidding?” Bending down, Wolfwood pulls something up off the floor and sets it on Vash’s forehead. Oh. It’s a wet towel, probably from a bucket by Wolfwood’s feet. It’s cool and it feels so amazing, Vash just closes his eyes and listens, too exhausted to keep watching. “If I can take care of twelve orphans with the stomach flu, I can handle one scrawny moron with a death wish.”

“Fair enough.” Grams doesn’t deny the ‘scrawny moron’ part—that’s cold—and she leaves with Lina soon after, turning off the light behind her. That just leaves the little lamp on the table, and Vash opens his eyes again just to stare at it dumbly. He’s always been kind of weirded out by lamps. The tiny plant shape inside seems so bizarre. They didn’t have anything like that on the ship when he was a kid—all the lights were inset, just flat panels on the walls and ceiling. But it’s sort of a relic—kind of like him.

“Guess I really am one of you now, huh?”

Turning his head, Vash squints at Wolfwood. What?

“That light show I pulled off in town square. I thought the plant crap was gonna end with the stupid hairdo and the healthy side-effects. I never thought…” He trails off, but Vash can tell he’s not happy. It makes sense—Vash would be relieved if he was told he could never create the angel’s arm again. Even whatever weaker version of it Wolfwood has is too much power for one person to wield. And even though Wolfwood’s never seen killing as something unforgivable, Vash knows he doesn’t _enjoy_ it.

“Sorry,” he rasps weakly.

Wolfwood doesn’t even seem to hear him. “Does this mean…” He growls under his breath. “Shit.” Ducking, the other man puts his head in his hands, staying silent for a long while before muttering, “Does this mean I’m going to end up like you?”

That could mean a lot of things—honestly, on any other day, Vash knows it’d be the setup for an insult. ‘Am I gonna end up an airhead’, or a ‘freak’, or ‘addicted to donuts’. This time, though, he can tell Wolfwood’s done playing games. But what he says still catches Vash by surprise.

“Am I… going to have to live as long as you have?” Vash sits up in shock, propping himself against the pillows with shaky arms. Is that… _That’s_ what he’s worried about? “Sure, I might get lucky, and get shot in the head after eighty years, but who knows! Maybe even that wouldn’t put you down. I’ve seen the kind of crap you’ve been through.”

“Don’t talk about that.” Getting shot in the head. Getting shot _at all_. Vash can’t stand it.

“Why not, huh?” Wolfwood lets out a high-pitched laugh, and it’s hard to hear. There isn’t a drop of humor in it. “Damn it. If God thought we were worthy of being immortal, he wouldn’t have given us expiration dates.”

“Wolfwood…” What should he say? Even if he did know how to snap Wolfwood out of it, it wouldn’t matter! The guy’s not even listening.

“Maybe you’re built different. Built for this kind of thing, I mean— _plants_. I know you’ve got that damn bleeding heart complex. If I were God, that’s exactly the kind of creature I’d let live for a thousand years.” There’s a weird grin on his face, and suddenly, Vash thinks he understands what Wolfwood means, about smiling with your eyes. When he covers his mouth with his hand, Wolfwood’s eyes are full of fear. “Human beings aren’t supposed to have this kind of power. Look at that bastard Legato. Look at _me_. I can’t even think about it without going insane! I don’t know what to do! Where am I supposed to go from here? What…” Dropping his hand in his lap, Wolfwood looks bleakly up at Vash. “… What the hell am I supposed to tell her?”

Vash doesn’t have the answer to that. He probably should, after everything he’s been through, but he doesn’t. Even when he finally told Meryl the whole story, he didn’t plan it. He hadn’t so much as imagined telling her about his past before the exact moment where it felt like he had to. And it felt like the right thing to do then—not just because of all the things she’d been through up until then, thanks to following him around, but because he’d gotten to know her. That was when he realized he could really trust her, and that someone as kind, and strong, and _special_ as Meryl would never take his past and use it against him. What Wolfwood is saying, and what he’s worrying about, isn’t the same as that, though. Millie’s pretty different from Meryl to begin with, and Wolfwood’s only just getting used to these changes himself.

“What am I doing?” Dragging his palms down his face, Wolfwood peers over the tips of his fingers at Vash. “That’s how I know I’m screwed, huh? When I start coming to you for advice.”

“Wish I could help.” Vash grins exhaustedly. “I’m… kind of dealing with my own problems right now.”

“Smartass.” Okay, so he’s actually listening to Vash now. That’s a start.

“You know what I think?” Ugh, jeeze. Vash’s voice is actually pretty hard to listen to! “You can tell her the truth. Even if she knows everything, Millie’s not going to see you any differently.” Sure, her version of Wolfwood is some kind, patient, self-sacrificing saint—and not the bitter old man Vash knows, who buries those things way deep down inside himself, but still. She cares about Wolfwood, maybe even loves him, and that’s not going to change because he’s part plant. Hell, she’s always liked Vash, even back when she and Meryl thought he really was a dangerous criminal.

“Don’t know where you get that optimism from.” Peeling the wet cloth off Vash’s forehead, Wolfwood drops it back into the bucket so it can soak up some cooler water. “Maybe you sap it out of everybody else like a weed.”

Sighing, Vash hunches forward. The room still feels… wobbly, but he thinks he can manage. Still, as soon as he starts to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, Wolfwood jumps up so quick he knocks his chair to the floor.

“Whoa, whoa—where do you think you’re going?”

Confused, Vash cocks an eyebrow. “To… get a glass of water?”

“No way.” Wolfwood motions for Vash to lie back down, ignoring his irritated noise. “Stay put or I’ll shave you _bald_ next time.”

Pouting, Vash leans against the pillows, watching as Wolfwood steps into the hallway. Part of him wants to—or maybe, at this point wishes he could—sprint ahead of Wolfwood and get to the kitchen first, just to show him he’s worrying for nothing, but when he tries to move, his shoulder spasms and he freezes. So much for that. He lets out a deep exhale, going limp on the headboard as he listens to Wolfwood’s foosteps clunking back up the stairs. As soon as Wolfwood gets close enough, Vash snatches the glass out of his hand with his good arm, chugging it in one go and setting it on the nightstand with a happy sigh. “Thanks, buddy!”

“Don’t get used to it.” Bending down, Wolfwood lifts the chair back onto its feet so he can settle in again. “This is just special treatment for getting a bullet through the shoulder.” He beckons for Vash to lean in, then grabs the back of his neck gently. Vash tenses up as Wolfwood pulls him closer, pressing their foreheads together.

This is… weird. It’s weird, right? Vash is pretty sure he isn’t just feeling that way because he’s still loopy. “What are you—“

“Relax, buzzcut.” Huh. He just _has_ to take a jab at Vash’s hair. “I’m just checking your temperature.” Letting go of Vash, he leans back and goes slack in his chair. “That’s how we used to do it at the orphanage. My hands are too cold to get a good reading.” Reaching into the bucket, he gestures for Vash to lie down, then puts the rag back on his forehead. “You’re still pretty warm, but at least it sounds like you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah.” Come to think of it, Wolfwood is right. “I am, actually.”

“That’s good.” Maybe he’s only acting like this because he’s so tired, but it’s nice when Wolfwood knocks it off with all his bullying and sarcasm and just says how he’s feeling. “But you need to get some sleep.” With that, he turns the lamp off, leaving them in pitch darkness.

“Aren’t you gonna turn in, too?” asks Vash, annoyed. Wolfwood’s really gonna babysit him, huh? The bodyguard shtick was one thing, but this time, it sounds like he actually means it. Great. He knows it’s his own fault, but now he can’t even be trusted just lying in bed.

“Not til you’re out,” Wolfwood mutters, and Vash knows just from how he says it that Wolfwood’s making him a promise.


	11. Born for This

“Do we really have to?” Vash can’t keep himself from sounding whiny—he _really_ doesn’t want to do this.

“Is that even a question?” Wolfwood reaches for Vash’s arm and Vash jerks away, wincing. “Look at them! They’re soaked through. Stop being such a damn baby about it and let’s get this over with.”

“I mean—can’t somebody else help me?” Grams and Lina aren’t great options, either; Vash wasn’t comfortable being seen with his shirt off, even before all this. Then again, Grams seems like she’d be pretty hard to phase, and her bedside manner’s got to be better than Wolfwood’s.

“Not happening.”

Gritting his teeth, Wolfwood finally cuts to the chase, grabbing Vash by the good shoulder _, hard— “_ Ow!” as he forces him to hold still.

“For— _God’s_ —sake!” He digs his fingers in more when Vash keeps trying to squirm, pinning him so he can start unwrapping the bandages. “It’s just the two of us here. You can quit pretending you’re squeamish.”

Vash gags as he feels the bandages start to peel off, shuddering when they tug at raw skin of the wound. “Wh-Who’s _pretending?”_

“This has to be the hundredth time you’ve been shot!” Wolfwood douses the bullet hole with some antiseptic and Vash yelps. Is that stuff seriously supposed to help him get better? Feels like battery acid! “And I know for a fact you weren’t this dramatic last time it happened.”

“You don’t have to rub it in,” groans Vash. “Maybe I’m just extra sensitive right now.” Not so much to bullet wounds in general, though. It’s more like every nerve in his body is on high alert these days. He’s not sure if this injury’s any worse than the last time he got shot, but he swears he’s not faking how bad it hurts. He hunches forward as Wolfwood starts dabbing on the ointment, trying to make it harder for Wolfwood to see his chest. The swelling hasn’t gotten any better, and it’s starting to look so _feminine_. The, uh… leaking hasn’t really stopped, either, but at least it’s not happening right now. Could be worse, he guesses.

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” Digging some fresh bandages out of the bedside drawer, Wolfwood starts wrapping him up again, and Vash smiles when he realizes how tenderly the other man is working. It makes sense, actually: he must be pretty gentle whenever he has to patch up his orphans. It’s just that, in his eyes, Vash doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment. Maybe this time it’s different because Wolfwood’s kind of taking care of a kid here. Er— _kind of_ , Vash guesses. “There.” He leans back with a scowl, but it softens when he glances at Vash’s face. “What’re you smiling about?”

“Nothing. Just—“ Vash eases back against the pillows as he tugs his shirt back on. (It doesn’t really fit well anymore, but the way he sees it, as long as he’s stuck in the house, he can wear whatever he wants.) “Do you miss them? The kids at the orphanage?”

“Where’s this coming from?” The way Wolfwood says that, it’s like he’s automatically suspicious. Vash isn’t sure if that’s because he’s the one asking, or if Wolfwood’s just overly paranoid when it comes to people taking an interest in those kids. They both know firsthand that trafficking’s a hell of a lot more common than adoption on Gunsmoke.

“I dunno!” Not wanting to admit his real thought process, Vash stumbles. “With the girls visiting the orphanage, it kind of got me thinking. You’re always so busy making money for the church, it seems like you hardly get a chance to hang out there.”

“It’s not like I enjoy being gone all the time!” Okay, now he just sounds insulted. He slips a hand under his lapel and grabs a cigarette, standing up and going over to the window. Lately, he’s been prying it open and smoking with his head halfway out the building. When Vash asked why, Wolfwood just snapped that he ‘ought to know that’. “Of course I miss ‘em. But I don’t mind the peace and quiet.”

Huh. For some reason, Vash was hoping—well, _expecting_ —a nicer answer than that. But hey, just because Wolfwood says something snippy, it doesn’t mean he means it. They guy’s always a crab. “Yeah, it’s probably for the best. You’re kind of awkward around kids.”

“Are you kidding me?” Flicking the second half of his cigarette out the window, Wolfwood stomps over to the bed again. “You’re lucky you’re feeble and bedridden. Means I don’t get to throttle you for that.” He reaches out, putting a hand on Vash’s head and shoving it gently down. If Vash weren’t pregnant, Wolfwood would probably pin him to the floor and make him eat a dust bunny or something. “I’m going out. What do you want for lunch?”

“Wow!” Beaming, Vash folds his arms behind his head, making a big show of settling in against the cushions. “You’re waitin’ on me hand and foot, huh? Took a while, but I finally managed to get a little sympathy out of old Wolfwood.”

“Sympathy. Sure. Or _pity_.” Wolfwood steps outside the room, then sticks his arm back in to show how close together his thumb and forefinger are. “Veeeeery fine line between the two.”

Vash sinks deeper under the covers, closing his eyes as he listens to Wolfwood stomp down the stairs. His fever’s disappeared, and his wound isn’t bleeding that much anymore, but everybody in this house seems hell-bent on keeping him locked up in his room. Not that Vash doesn’t understand why—he probably deserves it after he gave everyone such a scare, but still! It’s hard being alone up here all day with nothing to do. Even that wouldn’t be so bad on its own, but Vash just can’t get comfortable when he’s like this. His back feels weird no matter how he tries to lie, and his stomach has started to weigh him down a lot. It’s like he’s wearing something really tight that squeezes his organs, and unless he’s on his side, his lungs act like they can’t get a good breath in.

Finally— _finally,_ the icing on the donut is the baby. (It’s still hard for Vash to use that word, honestly, but the more he says it, the less scary it feels. That’s what he’s been telling himself, anyway.) It keeps kicking and squirming under his skin, and sometimes, if he actually looks at his belly without anything covering it, he swears he can see an actual foot or hand pressing against it. That _should_ make him want to throw up—and it kinda does, actually, but it’s also a huge relief. Vash kept thinking about that dream, over and over. The bigger he got, the more it wormed its way into the back of his head, but now he feels a lot more confident that whatever’s inside him at least looks like a human. Or like him, anyway. All he can say is that, when he sees a hand or foot poking out from the inside, it doesn’t look like there are twenty extra ones alongside it, and Vash is a lot happier about that than he thought he’d be.

“GAAH! _Jesus Christ—!”_

Head jerking up, Vash realizes that’s Wolfwood’s voice, and it’s coming from just up the street. Bracing one hand against the headboard, he shoves himself up, struggling with his balance for a second before hurrying to the window to look outside. Wolfwood’s still yelling out there, but he’s doing better than he sounds. A bunch of the local boys must’ve gotten together for a sneak attack, because they’re all pinning Wolfwood down and taking turns trying out new wrestling moves. Laughing, Vash folds his arms over the sill and leans forward. Never thought he’d miss when that was him, but life’s gotten pretty crazy lately, even by his standards.

So much for getting breakfast. But this is a pretty nice surprise, too. He’s been wanting to sock Wolfwood for a while now, and it’s nice to know somebody else had the same idea. He starts to zone out, just watching Wolfwood get tackled by the kids. He’ll go down, get pinned, then roar and (gently!) toss them aside as he overpowers each boy and gets back on his feet. No matter what he says, the guy really does love kids. And he’s probably had to take in so many hungry, miserable kids who had nobody to help them. Vash didn’t want to think about what comes _after_ you give a child up, but Wolfwood faces that reality every day. No wonder he didn’t even let Vash consider it.

Now the kids around Wolfwood are chanting over each other for him to ‘do it again’. Vash doesn’t get it until one of the taller boys starts grabbing at Wolfwood’s arm and making gunshot sounds. Ohhh. That explains why he’s so popular! That wannabe angel’s arm might have been the weirdest thing those kids have ever seen. Wolfwood’s practically a celebrity to them. The guy says something in a grouchy voice, yanking his arm back. Then the kids all ball their hands into fists and stick out their arms, miming like they’re blasting invisible energy beams at Wolfwood. And Wolfwood—

Vash clamps a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Wolfwood’s probably sure that nobody (well, no _adult)_ can see him, because he acts like a professional stage performer, twitching and stumbling backwards until he falls down on the ground, croaking, “ _God!_ The pain! You… Y-You got me…”

Has he always been like this? Vash has seen him play with kids before, but he’s never this goofy. Heh. Maybe Vash is rubbing off on him after all! And he’s smiling really, really big, too. The guy always gives Vash grief for faking a smile, but Vash thinks he could say the same thing about that smirk of his. Hell, he could stand to smile more, period. Fake or not. Especially because a real smile just… It looks good on him! Vash is watching him now, and he can’t believe what a big difference it makes, Wolfwood sitting in the dirt, guffawing with the kids as they all roll around on the ground with him.

He’d like to keep spying, but his ankles are starting to hurt, so Vash stumbles back over to the bed and flops onto it. God, he doesn’t know. Maybe he’s been wrong this whole time. It still seems like a huge deal—to have a kid, and to keep something as tiny and helpless as a newborn from _dying_ —but maybe it’s not as complicated and scary as Vash has been picturing it. Wolfwood definitely thinks he can do it. Wolfwood, as in the same man who has almost twenty kids, who range from infant to teenager, in his care. Vash might not know Wolfwood’s whole story; just bits and pieces, really. But he’s sure that Wolfwood never saw himself taking care of a whole gaggle of orphans when he was younger. And look at him now! Everything he does, he does for those kids. (Well, he could still improve himself in other ways—maybe lose the sarcasm, and try a little harder not to kill anyone.) But for someone who never saw it coming, Wolfwood’s still the best person those kids could hope to have looking out for them.

After thinking that, Vash shakes his head with a grimace. Any way you look at it, it’s like Wolfwood was born to be a parent. And Vash?

Vash has no clue what he was born for, but it definitely wasn’t this.


	12. Give or Take a Decade

“Looks like that’s everything.” Wolfwood finishes screwing the hatch shut, standing up and leaning backwards so he can crack his spine. “This had better work. Otherwise, we just wasted a whole afternoon.”

“Oh, sure. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” Vash snorts, bending and reaching for the souped-up radio. Wolfwood shoves it closer to him, and even though Vash knows it’s just so he won’t get out of bed, he’s gonna count it as a nice gesture. “Playing with the local kids, buying me donuts, sleeping on the couch when you’re supposed to be body-guarding me…”

“Oh, please.” As he hunches forward and starts fiddling with the dial, Wolfwood grits his teeth around his cigarette. “Body-guarding a guy like you would take a lot out of anybody. If I don’t treat my downtime like a vacation, I’ll go insane.”

“Aww, Wolfwood! You’re so cold.” Vash fakes a sniffle, grabbing one of his many pillows so he can clutch it against his chest for dramatic effect. “And here I was, thinking we were actually becoming closer!”

“Shh-shh! Shush! Needlenoggin. Stick a sock in it for once in your life.” Wolfwood leans in closer, spinning the dial slowly at first, then slower, then eeeeven sloooower... “There’s our man.” The static is broken up by a faint sound, which gets clearer as Wolfwood fidgets, finally shaping itself into a crystal-clear voice.

“Hello? Red Geranium, do you copy?” The professor’s voice is pretty hard to mistake, especially with a phrase like that. Somebody managed to find ways to grow flowers on Gunsmoke a long time ago, but even people who afford to buy a bouquet probably couldn’t tell you any specific names.

Picking up the receiver, Wolfwood drawls into it, “Yeah, we’re here.” 

“Vash?” Wolfwood makes a face, like he’s mad the doc’s just talking over him. “I received the telegram you sent. Is everything alright?”

Vash holds out his arm, making grabbing motions with his hand until Wolfwood passes the receiver over to him. “I feel great, doc! As a matter of fact, I’ve never been better.”

Wolfwood exhales loudly. “Tell him the truth, broom-for-brains.”

“Truth?” Wait, so—he heard that? Oh. Right. Vash forgot; they fixed this up a little better than most radios. They don’t need to hold down the button and talk into the speaker, because this radio just acts like a super long-distance telephone. Even though they’re talking to somebody who’s practically on the other side of Gunsmoke, it just sounds like they’re making a call across town.

“Ehh, that’s—It’s nothing! Not important.”

“Like hell!” Either Wolfwood doesn’t know what Vash just figured out, or he doesn’t care, because he snatches the receiver back so he can shout into it. “The dumb bastard got himself shot! _Again_. Almost bled out in the middle of the town square.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad!” Or—Okay, it was _kind of_ that bad, but Vash is so used to it, that it’d be like a regular person falling down and scraping their knee.

“Vash…” Both he and Wolfwood freeze when they hear the seriousness in the doc’s tone. Of course, then the old guy goes on to say, “I… don’t believe I heard your friend correctly. Could you repeat that last bit of information?”

Through gritted teeth, Wolfwood states, “He. Got. _Shot_.”

There’s a long, uncomfortable pause, followed by a soft sigh. “Vash, please tell me he’s lying.”

“He’s…” Picking at the back of his neck, Vash shrugs and laughs awkwardly. “Heh! Well, you know he’s a preacher, right? So, a little bit of brutal honesty every now and then isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Please, Vash. Put aside the humor for once.” The sounds of tiny clangs and squeaking pour out of the speakers, and if Vash had to guess, he’d say the professor just started messing with one of his projects to help ease his mind. “I don’t think you fully understand the gravity of this situation, and I can’t help but wonder…” There’s another sigh, and the noises stop. “If you had realized it was going to be this difficult, would you have agreed to have this child?”

Heart twisting in his chest, Vash clenches at the covers and looks down. Next to him, Wolfwood grumbles, “Little late to be worrying about that, don’tcha think?”

“You’re nearly finished with this, Vash.” Even though he can’t see the professor, Vash gets the feeling that this is one of the few times he isn’t smiling. “I realize how difficult it is for you to hold back when you see someone struggling or in danger, but if you’re going to bring a child into the world safely, it’s going to have to be your number one priority. Right now, they depend on you for everything! When you throw yourself into the line of fire, you’re risking their life as well.”

“Getting shot isn’t the same as almost dying!” In fact, it’s a lot less serious than people make it out to be. (Or maybe it’s just less serious for a walking plant like Vash.) But either way, it’s not as bad as he and Wolfwood are making it sound.

“Hey. Bit of advice.” Wolfwood clamps his hand over Vash’s mouth, and he keeps it there until Vash wears himself out and stops struggling. “Quit while you’re ahead.”

“One shot could be all it takes to end your life. _Or_ , your little passenger’s.” Something about the way he says that is too cutesy for Vash’s liking, but at least the professor’s loosened up enough to chuckle at his own line. That means he’s not _as_ mad anymore. “You’ve got a few more vital areas than you’re used to.”

“Hey. Doc.” Wolfwood clears his throat. “Much as I’m loving this lesson on how bullet wounds are _bad_ , I had, uhh…” Shrugging even though only Vash can see him, Wolfwood sinks down onto the bed next to Vash, dropping his hands into his lap. “Thought we could steer the situation towards a little _plant talk_ , if you catch my drift.”

“Certainly, Mr. Wolfwood.” Yup—Just like that, he’s cheerful as ever. That’s good, though! Vash hates to think he really made the doc angry with him this time. “What did you have in mind?”

“It was, uh…” Adam’s apple bobbing, Wolfwood gulps and sorta swings his arm around, like he’s trying to make the angel’s arm appear again. “That… Ugh, damn it! You know. That fireworks show Vash used to put a hole in the moon.”

“Yes?” Now the doc sounds totally lost, and Vash wishes he could actually appreciate that, since it’s so rare.

“When Vash went down after that whole… _shooting_ incident, I sorta…” Wolfwood trails off, waits for a second, then clears his throat instead of ending the sentence.

“You don’t mean…” The professor’s voice fades into a murmur. “You’re _not_ telling me that you were able to form an angel’s arm?”

“Well, not a real one,” Vash pipes up. “It was like a baby version!”

“That’s incredible!” Sounding breathless, the doc starts babbling. “Even Vash couldn’t conjure his at will until relatively recently. It took him more than a century to actually fight off someone else’s control and take charge of his angel’s arm. And you’re telling me you’ve done the equivalent in a mere number of months?”

“What can I say?” Wolfwood chuckles. Vash glowers and sinks under the covers. This isn’t something to be proud of—even Wolfwood seems like he’s as confused as he is flattered—but then again, the doc sees everything as one huge science experiment. “I’m a fast learner. And we both know it takes a lot to drill a lesson into Needlenoggin here.”

Vash huffs, turning around and yanking the comforter around himself dramatically. “Ohh, wow! Is it that late already?” He peeks over his shoulder, squinting. “Since it’s getting dark out, and I _am_ recovering from a life threatening injury, not to mention in an extremely delicate state—“ He takes a massive breath, then spits out, “I think the two of you should continue your loud, _distracting_ conversation in another room.”

“Aww.” Laughing even harder, Wolfwood turns and bends over to look at Vash. “Whaddya know, doc. I think you hurt his feelings.”

“I’m sure he was merely teasing, Vash,” says the professor. Then, like he forgets Vash is even in the room, he goes on. “Anyway, Mr. Wolfwood, judging by the fact that you seem to have a lesser version of Vash’s—that is to say, an independent plant’s—powers, I’d hazard a guess that you haven’t become a complete plant. I suppose anything’s possible, but given the accelerated state at which your abilities have developed, I think such a thing would’ve happened by now if it _were_ going to happen. Your biology is likely somewhere between that of a human and a plant. That would mean accelerated healing, heightened senses, a considerably longer lifespan, and yes, even the power to harness an angel’s arm. Just not to the extent that Vash can.”

“So, Vash’s… _current_ problem.” Ugh. Of course that’s the only thing Wolfwood’s actually worried about. The worst part is, Vash can’t even blame him. He’s already terrified of this happening again in another hundred years!

“I wouldn’t count on it,” laughs the doc. Wolfwood lets out a jokey, massive sigh of relief, and the doc laughs harder. “A-Alright then. I’ll see the two of you very soon. Vash, stay off your feet until then. Mr. Wolfwood, please keep an eye on him.” Again, even though they’re on a call, Wolfwood gives a goofy salute. “I’ll give you a checkup, too, if you’d like. We’ll see just how much of you is plant.”

“Can’t wait,” says Wolfwood, and it sounds sarcastic, but not _that_ sarcastic.

“Til next time, then.” The radio gives a low beep and then the static comes back in a muffled roar.

Vash cringes as Wolfwood curses and trips over his feet as he runs over to it. He turns it off with a click, and it’s quiet for a bit before Wolfwood sighs and asks, “Are you done pouting?

Jerking up, Vash snaps, “I’m not pouting!”

“We can call it moping if you’d prefer.” Wolfwood grabs the chair he’d set by the radio and drags it back over to the bed, easing onto it. “Now suck it up and let me see that wound.”

“Aww, seriously?” This is one of those times where Vash is putting on a show, but he’s not faking as much as he wishes he were. Lifting a hand, Vash pats the bandages gently. “Didn’t you already change ‘em today?”

“Not my fault you aren’t healing right.” Without asking permission, Wolfwood grabs Vash by his good shoulder and shoves him forward, undoing the wrappings quickly. The bandages don’t stick to his skin anymore, and there’s a lot less blood, but the bullet hole isn’t closing the way it needs to. Vash knows Wolfwood’s got a point, but he’ll keep that to himself.

“I’m not doing it on purpose!” If Vash knew how to heal himself, he… wouldn’t, actually, because he’d rather keep his scars, but this time, he might not mind speeding the process up. “I guess my body’s just under the weather.”

“Hm. Maybe all your energy’s going into the cloning tank.” Wolfwood starts applying the salve, and when he sees Vash tensing up and wincing, he pushes on his back with his other hand, coaching, “Here. Lean on me a little.”

Vash swallows as he looks away. Something about this feels weird, but Wolfwood’s not making a big deal about it, and he’s sure to get pissed off and offended if Vash doesn’t take him up on his offer. So, against his better judgement, he obeys. Not very much, and only lightly, but he presses a bit of his weight into Wolfwood’s torso. “… Oh.” Huh. It actually does help, even if that’s only because Vash can’t fall off the bed from shuddering too hard. Wolfwood finishes up, dressing the wound and tucking the edge of the bandage, and Vash slowly pulls back, watching the other man’s face, even if he has no idea why.

Wolfwood doesn’t seem to catch the way he’s looking, and his expression is far-off when he sinks back into his own chair.

“Uh.” Feels like there’s something Vash should be saying. Wait— _duh_. “Thanks.” Feels like too little, too late, and Wolfwood’s not the type to worry about getting thanked. Still, Vash thinks he ought to say it. “Y’know, I always say I can’t stand the sight of blood, but it only makes me feel sick when it’s my _own_ blood.” Of course, the rest is actually true: Vash really _can’t_ stand blood. But not because it makes him queasy.

The other man nods his head, but Vash can tell Wolfwood’s not listening to a word he says. That’s just great! Being one of those ‘manly men’, there’s no way Wolfwood will open up about his feelings, even if something’s obviously bugging him.

“Hey, Needlenoggin.” His voice sounds like it’s a whole octave lower, and Vash swallows, dreading what’s next. Wolfwood’s silent for a painfully long time, and Vash starts to think he’s decided to drop it until he finally speaks up. “… If the old man’s right, how long am I gonna live?”

 _That’s_ what he’s so down about? Seriously?! Frowning, Vash looks up at the ceiling. “… I’m not sure. Regular plants live for millennia, I think. They’re kind of outside time and space. They don’t really age, they’re just… _created_.” Or maybe… summoned? Vash isn’t entirely clear on that. “So, for an independent plant…” He’s thought about it sometimes, but never that deeply. It just wasn’t that important. How often do regular people think about their own death date? Well, other than during a mid-life crisis. And Vash guesses he could end up having one of those in five hundred years or so, but he’s not gonna worry about that _now_. “A thousand years?” Give or take a few decades.

“And a…” Wolfwood’s hand grasps at his chest, fingers pulsing like he’s having heart palpitations. “For a... whatever the hell I am now?”

“Half of that, maybe?” Vash winces after he says that. For some reason, saying it out loud makes him feel weirdly upset. He tries not to think about lifespans too much—not his so much as other people’s—but if Wolfwood’s going to live almost as long as Vash, why does that feel…

Vash can’t put all of it into words, but the one feeling he _can_ name is ‘disappointment’. 

“How the _hell_ am I supposed to…” Wolfwood can’t seem to finish that thought. Vash watches his mouth open and close, like he’s fighting to get his throat to open back up so he can keep talking. “You never… _told_ anybody, did you? What you were?” The way he puts it makes Vash’s skin prickle. He sounds like he’s calling Vash a monster. There are times when Vash might’ve agreed with him, honestly, but it still feels harsh coming from Wolfwood. “I mean, people already figured. With all the rumors and legends about you, nobody’d really be surprised. Hell, they’d probably expect it. But… Me. W-With… somebody like me.” He works his jaw a bit, then he shakes his head and slumps forward. “How do I… Sh-Should I even…” There’s a huge, shaking sigh, followed by: “… _tell_ her?”

Right. Millie. Of course that’s who he’s thinking of—and that’s why he’s this torn up about it. Vash feels dumb for not figuring it out sooner. “I think… I think that’s up to you.”

“Heh.” Wolfwood lifts his head to give Vash a squinty-eyed, worn-out grimace. “Guess it’s not the only option, right? To just… keep on living.” The ‘without her’ is implied. “If it gets to be too much, I could always...” He lifts one hand up slowly, pointing his finger towards his temple like a gun. Before he can actually mime pulling the trigger, Vash lunges forward and grabs his hand, tugging it away.

“Don’t.” His first reaction is to tell Wolfwood to quit joking—to tell him, _again_ , that he can’t stand making fun of suicide—but this is real. Wolfwood’s really considering it, even if it’d be another sixty years down the line. “Seriously!” His face gets weirdly hot when he realizes he’s still holding onto Wolfwood’s fingers, so he pulls his hand away to slap the other man on the side of his head. “That’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Whuh—!?” Wolfwood’s frozen for a second, but then it’s like Vash woke him up out of a stupor. “The hell are you talking about, Needlenoggin? You basically put me in some kinda living limbo, and now you’re not even gonna let me make peace with it?” Jumping to his feet, Wolfwood kicks a leg of the chair and sends it clattering to the floor. “If I’m gonna be stuck with you and _only_ you til the end of my days, I’m gonna need a goddamn minute to come to terms with it.”

Huffing, Vash sinks back down against the cushions, crossing his arms moodily. “That’s fine, but you’re not killing yourself.” Not now, not _ever_. “Just think of how Millie would feel!”

“Well, maybe she’d be better off without me.” Hunching over Vash, Wolfwood growls, “Besides—I’m a grown man, damn it. I can make my own decisions.” It takes a bit for his breathing to calm down, but when it does, he straightens up and gives Vash a smirk—a genuine looking one at that. “Hell, maybe I’ll off myself right in front of you just to be an asshole.”

Vash lets an angry growl. “Then—!” He just blurts it out before he can think: “I’ll just bring you back again!”

“That’s a load of Thomas shit and you know it.” Oof. Wolfwood didn’t waste any time calling his bluff. “You don’t even know how you did it the first time!”

“I could figure it out,” snaps Vash, surprise coming over him when he realizes he’s fighting to hold back a smile. He didn’t plan it at all, but the more he gets Wolfwood to argue with him, the more the other man sounds like himself again. When they rile each other up enough, the dark cloud that was just hanging over them seems to blow away like smoke.

“Yeah, sure you will.” Snorting, Wolfwood adds, “If you knew the first thing about hidden plant powers, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten yourself knocked up.”

Vash pouts pretty badly after that one, staring straight ahead and… actually acting a lot more insulted than he really is, just so Wolfwood will keep laughing for a while longer. After his chuckling dies down, and they’re sitting in a comfortable silence, Vash quietly adds, “… You know you’re always going to have people like her, right?” Before Wolfwood can argue with him, he keeps going. “Maybe not… _exactly_ , but...” Especially when you’ve lived as long as Vash has. “That’s more than enough to keep you going. Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went by the file AO3 sent me for the most part, because I've made edits on the site since uploading them and not edited in the actual files, but it seemed to be missing some chapters to it. Hopefully I caught them, but if anything seems amiss please comment and let me know!


	13. Tempo

“And then what was the seventh guy like?”

Vash yawns, bored out of his mind as he slouches against the headboard, tuning out Lina and Wolfwood’s voices. His fever broke days ago, and his arm barely even hurts, but Wolfwood, Lina, and Grandma lose their minds whenever he tries to get out of bed and go any further than the end of the hall. (He learned that the hard way when he made it all the way down the stairs without anybody noticing.) Actually, Lina probably wouldn’t mind, but Grams and Wolfwood have brainwashed her pretty well, and now she gets just as antsy as they do when she sees him do terrifying things like _walk_ , and go downstairs, or even stand for more than five minutes.

“I dunno, kid. Some big, psycho robot.” Wolfwood sighs, slouching where he sits in the window frame. Lina’s face goes from excitement to total disappointment. She grabs her feet, rocking back and forth on the foot of Vash’s bed. Rolling his eyes, Wolfwood adds, “Pretty sure his brain was still human, so I guess that’d be a cyborg.”

“Whoa! Really?” That got her attention. Lina’s head whips back up and she beams. “How’d you guys beat _him?”_

“Well—“ There must be some part of the universe that likes messing with Wolfwood. Right when it looks like he’s starting to get into his story, they hear the front door open, and Lina yelps.

“Crap!” Throwing herself over Vash’s legs, she sprints towards the door, whisper-shouting, “I promised Grandma I’d do the dishes before she got home! She’s gonna be so mad!”

Vash laughs, waving her off as Wolfwood sighs.

“Thank God. A kid her age shouldn’t be interested in damn cult like the Gung-Ho Guns.” Shaking his head, Wolfwood ducks out from inside the window and straightens up, lifting his arms over his head as he stretches. “It’s just not healthy.”

“Says the chain-smoking gun-for-hire.” Laughing weakly, Vash throws the covers off and swings his legs over the side of the bed. It’s way harder to stand up with one arm, and he has to brace his good hand against the bed almost every time. Maybe he’s nuts, but he swears his stomach’s started to sink lower in the past few days. It could be that he’s been lying down so much, but there’s more pressure on his hips, and the way he has to walk is slightly… weird looking. But still walking! Still just regular, normal… Okay, no; it’s definitely a waddle.

Wolfwood doesn’t even look at him, sliding his lighter out of his pocket and turning it over in his hands. “Get back in bed.”

“Ugh, _for real?”_ Vash groans dramatically, slumping forward like a zombie as he pads towards Wolfwood. “I’m sick of lying around! I want to go outside.” He stops slouching and inches next to the guy, putting his back against the wall and folding his arms behind him. “I’m a plant, right? What’s the one thing plants need?” He waits for Wolfwood to answer him, then drowns out reply—‘water’—with: “Sunlight.” Vash is serious! Well, not totally, but he does need to leave or he’ll go crazy. Even getting to wear what he wants hasn’t made this any more fun. It was nice at first, but at this point, he’d put on fifty dresses in a row if it just meant he could leave the house.

“Well, now you’re a _houseplant._ Might as well get used to it.” For emphasis, he flicks his lighter, then sticks a cigarette in his mouth and opens the window when he lights it.

“That’s not fair! I shoul— _oof_.” Vash puts a hand against the side of his stomach, face screwing up. It’s been happening more and more in the past few days. He could feel movement in there before—something like bubbles under his skin, or just outside where his real stomach is—but it wasn’t this intense! It’s definitely uncomfortable, but sometimes it knocks the air out of him. His hand starts rubbing all on its own, but Vash isn’t sure why. Doing that never seems to help much.

“What?” When he takes a puff of the cigarette, Wolfwood sticks his whole head outside, but he pops back in to ask Vash, “You having a heart attack or something?”

“Pff! Are you craz— _mmf!—_ crazy? Even if I was, I wouldn’t tell you.” Not with how the guy’s been acting after one stupid bullet wound. “You’d probably chain me to the bed.”

“Heart attack or not, you’d have that coming.” Wolfwood’s still watching Vash intensely, waiting for an answer, so Vash caves.

“It’s just… kicking. A lot.” But he sort of figured Wolfwood wouldn’t want to hear about it. Why would he, honestly? It’s gross, it’s weird, and Vash himself is barely used to it. But even while he’s thinking that, and even though he hates thinking about it, he can’t seem to get himself to shut up. “It—he, I guess?” If it’s a perfect clone of Vash, it’s probably going to be a boy, right? “He kicks a lot whenever people start talking.” Especially when Vash and Wolfwood start arguing, or when Wolfwood’s giving him crap.

“Heh.” Wow, did Wolfwood actually chuckle? Vash can’t put his finger on why, but that seems weird. Maybe because it didn’t sound sarcastic? “If I can’t give you the beating you deserve, it’s good to know _somebody’s_ doing it.”

There it is. “You wish!” Vash cups his belly on either side, glancing down at it like he’s trying to figure out where he’ll get poked next. It’s been easier for him to touch lately—probably helps that, every time he gets up, or has to squeeze into a tight spot his hands instinctively go to his stomach. The best he can figure, his brain’s trying to help him gauge the amount of space he has to work with, like how a cat uses its whiskers. “It doesn’t even hurt. It’s more like…” He tries to come up with the best way to describe it, but in the end, he just looks up at Wolfwood with a little noise of defeat. “I-I dunno. I can’t really describe it.”

“Y’know, it’s funny.” Wolfwood flicks the butt out the window, then climbs back inside. “For all the kids we have at the orphanage, I’ve never spent much time around pregnant women.” He snorts. “I wonder if they complain more, or _less_ than you do.”

“I’m not complaining! How is that complaining?”

“Hey.” Wolfwood grins this weird looking grin, and Vash feels creeped out without knowing why. “Lemme feel it.”

Vash jolts. “What?!”

“What do you mean ‘what’? I’m curious.” One hand goes up over his heart. “Lemme feel it, just this once, and I won’t give you any bullshit for the rest of the day.” Vash starts to say ‘no way’, but Wolfwood cuts him off. “I’ll even swear in the name of the holy father!”

“Just so you know, It’s really weird that you’re _this_ interested.” Vash grimaces, eyeing Wolfwood’s hand like it’s a snake about to bite.

“Fine! Don’t let me.” With a shrug, Wolfwood shoves his hands in his pockets and leans on the wall next to Vash. “It’s your call.”

Vash raises his eyebrows, looking down at his belly again, then over towards Wolfwood. Just like always, the guy’s impossible to read. (Well, not counting when he’s losing poker games or letting Millie rile him up.) “… Okay, fine. Just don’t goose me.”

“Oh, why, _thank you_ , your highness.” Wolfwood twirls one arm around, then bends it in front of his middle as he bows. “You honor me with this rare and _magical_ opportunity.” There’s nothing Vash wants to do more than to crack his hand down on Wolfwood’s head, but for some reason he holds back as the other man presses his palm flat against the dome of his stomach. Corners of his mouth twitching, Vash feels his cheeks get just warm. It’s really awkward, okay? Especially when he has to grab Wolfwood’s wrist and drags his hand over to where the last kick happened. There’s this horrible, _painful_ silence that seems to stretch on for years, but after a second or two of torture, Vash feels another jab in the same spot.

Wolfwood’s whole body jolts, and Vash jumps, too. “What!?”

“Sorry! Sorry, just—uh—“ He laughs loudly, then grins at Vash like he’s a completely different person. Somebody friendly and nice, who wouldn’t give Vash a noogie for being too broke to split the cost of a cab. “I don’t know. I didn’t think it’d feel like that.” He keeps his hand pressed flat against Vash’s stomach, then rubs the surface gently. “’There are more things on heaven and earth’, am I right?”

“What?” Vash grins back—it’s sorta forced, but maybe Wolfwood’ll focus on that instead of how pink his cheeks are. “You writing poetry or something?”

“It’s Shakespeare, Needlenoggin.” Wolfwood’s fingers twitch, and Vash remembers, way too late, to move the hand that’s been holding the guy’s wrist. “It means, just when you think you’ve seen everything, something you couldn’t come up with in your wildest dreams shows up to knock you on your ass.” Pulling his hand away, Wolfwood holds it up so he can count on his fingers. “Me? I’ve had about four things in my life that managed to do that.”

Vash smooths out the front of his shirt. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm.” Wolfwood nods. “You were three of ‘em.”

Vash blinks, then bursts out laughing. “I think I’ll take that as a compliment!”

“You _would_.” His tone is tired, but Wolfwood doesn’t sound like he’s all that irritated. He even stops to ruffle Vash’s hair before he starts to leave the room.

Vash starts to hobble after him. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t get too excited,” answers Wolfwood. “I’ve got a quick errand to do. I’ll only be gone for five minutes.” He freezes in the doorframe, standing there before adding, “If I get back and find you screwing around, you’re dead meat.”

“Who, me?” Vash chuckles nervously, sinking down onto the bed and grabbing at his knees, even if he has to squish them against his stomach in order to reach. “I’d never do something like that! Not when I have some poor, innocent preacher man so worried about me.”

Wolfwood just stares quietly before stomping back over to Vash and grabbing his head, squeezing his cheeks and really grinding his thumbs in until—

“OW! Hey!” Okay, that actually hurts! “UNCLE! _S’il vous plait._ T-Take it easy on me!” Clamping his hands together like he’s praying (that ought to get to Wolfwood , right?), Vash insists, “I won’t try anything, I swear!”

“That’s more like it.” With a scoff, Wolfwood lets go, slipping his hands in his pockets as he steps back. He stares Vash down for another second or two, then stomps out of the room. Vash watches him go, then grins.

Finally! Freedom. Rocking a couple times so he can make it off the bed, he shambles over to the door, listening to make sure Wolfwood really is gone. Then he makes his way to the stairs, taking each step so slowly, it almost hurts, just to keep the steps from squeaking. He listens real carefully once he’s downstairs, making sure Lina and Grams are still chatting it up in the kitchen before he tiptoes towards the front door. The closer he gets, the more his heartrate picks up—he can practically taste the fresh air! Feels like he hasn’t been outside in months, even though he knows it’s been a week at the most. Time seems to move differently whenever he spends too long in one town. Gulping, he reaches for the doorknob, slowly, _delicately_ turning the handle and opening the door with a soft creak.

So far, so good. He squeezes out, belly almost scraping against the frame as he goes, then shuts the door carefully behind him. It’ll be fine, okay? Lina and Grams won’t even know he’s gone. He’ll go for a walk around the block, maybe swing by the donut shop, and that’s all! Oh _man_ , is he excited! Humming under his breath, he turns around and moves to take a step off the porch—

“ _GAAH!”_ His feet get flipped out from under him as someone picks him up out of nowhere. Vash is so shocked over the _how_ , he almost doesn’t realize that it’s Wolfwood holding him. “Whuh—Where did you… “ Face going red, he yelps, “I thought you _left.”_

“I _did.”_ grumbles Wolfwood. “Leave it to you to take advantage of my trusting heart. What the hell did we tell you about resting, huh?”

“I’m rested enough!” Vash whines. “Lying around isn’t gonna close up a bullet wound. Plus, I’m pretty much all the way healed by now!” Craning his neck around, he tries to work out where Wolfwood even came from—and whether he went anywhere to begin with. “Where _were_ you?”

“I went down to the bus station to meet the girls, but I guess I was early.” Sighing, he adjusts his grip on Vash, who sputters, feeling _used_ , even if he’s not sure why. “Y’know, as prickly as that Meryl gets about deadlines, I’m real surprised she missed this one.”

“Well, maybe if you’d given us another two minutes,” a voice snaps.

Vash’s jaw drops and Wolfwood goes stiff, turning around _reeeaaal_ slow. There, standing on the bottom step is Meryl, looking miffed, with Millie hanging cheerfully behind her. Vash watches Meryl as she takes in the sight of Vash getting held by Wolfwood—along with Vash’s _obvious_ belly—eyes growing huge. Oh, well. This might be the most humiliated Vash has felt in ages, but hey! At least he isn’t wearing a dress.

Millie looks around at everyone’s startled faces, then laughs and gives an enthusiastic wave. “Hiiiii!”


	14. Two of a Kind

“Vash?” When Vash turns to look at her, Meryl’s eyes are bugging out of her head and her mouth is hanging open. Vash barely gets any time to figure out just how embarrassed he’s feeling before Wolfwood flat-out drops him.

“ _OW!”_ He hits the porch _hard_ and just sits there, pawing at his spine for a couple seconds.

Millie gasps. “Be careful!” Rushing up the steps, she pops Wolfwood hard in the arm. “You can’t just drop a person like that! Especially a pregnant person.” With a glare at Wolfwood, Millie turns to Vash and holds out her hands, which Vash nervously takes. One quick yank, and she pulls him back on his feet, dusting him off and talking like she’s only been away for five minutes. “Sorry about that.” Shooting Wolfwood another look, she pouts. “I hope that was just ‘cause you were excited to see me! If you’ve been mean to Vash this whole time, I’ll be mad at you for a _year.”_

“Vash…” Meryl gulps, taking a tiny step forward, like she thinks she might catch what Vash has if she gets too close. “We were only away for a month. H-How did you… ?”

Scratching the back of his head, Vash laughs uncomfortably. “Heh. Plants grow fast, y’know?”

“B-But…” Wheezing a few times before she can get any words out, Meryl suddenly starts babbling. Loudly. “It’s been a _month!_ O-Only a few weeks. You’re _enormous.”_

 _“_ Meryl!” Millie puts her fists on her hips and whirls around. “You should know better!” Lowering her voice, she hisses, “You can’t say that to him! It’s rude.”

Meryl’s jaw stays slack for another few seconds before she clamps it shut, blushing angrily. “Oh, Millie! You know that doesn’t count.” She crosses her arms, barking, “This is… _Vash_ we’re talking about! He’s fine.”

“Do I get a say in that?” Vash pouts, then plays it up like he’s wiping the tears from his eyes. “You might’ve really hurt my feelings!”

Meryl groans in disgust and leans away. “ _Euch.”_

“If I’m being honest here, I’d have to say I’m on Meryl’s side,” Wolfwood drawls. “After the stunt he pulled last week, he doesn’t deserve much sympathy.”

Meryl’s eyes narrow instantly, and Vash thinks he feels his heart stop beating. “What did he do?”

“Broom-for-brains went and got himself shot.” Wolfwood announces that in the same way you’d talk about your dog getting into the garbage.

“You’re kidding.” Now Meryl’s jaw is completely slack again. Turning back towards Vash, she begs, “Tell me he’s kidding.”

“A-At least it was for a good cause!” Vash grins weakly, raising his hands as if that’ll somehow keep Meryl from blowing up at him.

“Vash!”

Meryl takes a swing towards him and Vash shrieks, throwing his arms over his head. “Mercy, _mercy!_ It was the hormones, I _swear._ I’m not in control of my actions right now!” He waits to get hit by Meryl’s tiny fists, but after a second of quiet, he realizes nothing happened. At first, he thinks she just decided against hitting him. But when he peeks out from under his arms, he sees that Wolfwood’s stopped the blow, and is holding Meryl gently by the wrist.

“Trust me,” he says, “I’ve given him enough crap for it already.” He lets go, and Vash straightens up, watching Meryl pull her hand back with a sigh. “Now let’s get you girls something to drink.”

Vash follows everyone else inside, feeling dazed. They all sit down at the table as Grams fusses over the girls, asking them about their trip, offering them food, and even though Millie isn’t acting weird, Meryl keeps trying to steal glances at Vash when she thinks he isn’t looking. He groans after the first couple of times, turning away and staring out the window. It’s not like he doesn’t understand why she’s gawking, but it sure gets old fast. After they’re done eating, Meryl offers to help with the dishes and Vash copies her. Sure, being stuck in the kitchen with Meryl might be one of the most awkward places to be on Gunsmoke right now, but it’s still better than being stuck between Millie and Wolfwood as they get into the mushy talk.

“Oh, no, dear. Here. This is the good sponge.” Grams hands it Meryl, then passes a towel to Vash. “You can dry them, Eriks.”

“Eriks, huh?” Meryl grins at him as she turns on the water. “That’s an interesting nickname. Did you come up with that?”

“Ohh, no,” Grams explains, moving the drying rack closer to Vash. “He wouldn’t say a single word when we first found him, so Lina and I started calling him that. A long time ago, when Lina’s parents were alive, we lived in a different town. There was a young sheriff there who saved Lina a few times when she was just a little girl. Even then, she had a knack for getting into trouble. His name was Eriks, and...” She chuckles. “Well, I’m sure you understand why he reminded us so much of your friend.”

“A guy who’s so overprotective of other people he’s practically suicidal?” Stumbling, Vash rushes to grab the plate Meryl passes him as she starts scrubbing like they’re in the middle of the dinner rush at a restaurant. “Hm. That doesn’t sound familiar at _all._ ”

Grams laughs louder at that. “Yes! Not much of a sense of self-preservation.”

“Tell me about it.” Meryl snorts.

“ _Guuuys,”_ Vash groans. “I’m right here!”

“Ohh, don’t be so sensitive, Eriks!” Grams pinches his cheek and Vash whines like a little kid, leaning away from her.

“Yeah, _Eriks.”_ Meryl chuckles as she scrubs, then gets caught up scraping a really stubborn spot, which she starts to pick at with her fingernail. Pretty soon, they’re almost done with the dishes, and Grams heads back into the dining room to bring Wolfwood and Millie some ice tea. Meryl passes Vash the last plate, then sighs, staring into the sink while Vash wipes it dry. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Huh?” Vash slides the plate into the drying rack.

“Vash—just _look_ at you! You’re huge!” She throws her arms out and holds her hands far enough apart for two Vashes to fit between them, and Vash gives her a flat look. “Sorry. I just mean, you’re really about to have a kid. I know you’re…” She clears her throat. “ _Older_ than you look, but you always seem like a big kid yourself.”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell _me_ that.” Feels weird admitting it—especially because a lot of people have told him this as an insult, but: “Truth is, I still _feel_ like a kid a lot of the time.” He guesses he might still be one; it’s hard to tell when there isn’t anyone like him around. If regular plants are supposed to exist outside of time, maybe Vash is still pretty young as far as they’d be concerned. Of course, that doesn’t actually make him feel better about things, so he doesn’t bother saying it out loud.

“Well, you’ll have a lot in common with them.” Meryl gives his stomach this awkward little poke, then laughs. “It really is wild, though. I can’t believe you’re _pregnant_. I mean, I used to have such a big cru—“ Her eyes bug out as she realizes what she just said, but by then, it’s way too late.

“Crush? You had a crush on me?” After a serious nod, Vash adds, “Of _course_ you fell for me.” He puts his chin between his thumb and pointer finger, giving her his most magical smile. “Thanks to my devilishly handsome good looks and irresistible charm, it was only a matter of time until I plucked the delicate chrysanthemum of your heart—“

Grumbling, Meryl grabs a dirty dishrag and flings it in his face.

“Hey!” Vash pries it off his head, then uses it to mime like he’s shyly peeking out from behind a curtain. “Is that any way to treat your future fiancé?”

“Will you knock it off, already?” Meryl kneads at her temple, eyes screwed shut. “It’s embarrassing enough just remembering it, never mind talking about it.”

“Don’t beat yourself up.” Vash clears his throat and drops the rag in the sink. Then, as seriously as he can, he takes Meryl’s hands in his and gives them a delicate squeeze. “You’re one of hundreds—maybe thousands—who have suffered the same fate. Longing for that which they can never have—a romantic entanglement with the most legendary outlaw the likes of Gunsmoke has ever seen: _Vash the Stampede.”_

Meryl answers by pinching his palm _hard._

“OW!”

“Don’t get excited.” Meryl keeps talking like she didn’t just bruise Vash’s hand for the next decade. “I’m not even sure if it _was_ a crush. When I think about it _now_ , I don’t really know if I’d ever be able to feel that way about somebody.” Glancing out the window, she watches a couple kids run by as she mumbles, “That’s… probably for the best, right?” More of Wolfwood and Millie’s giggling trickles in and Meryl shudders. “It makes you act so _stupid.”_

“I guess.” Wolfwood seems pretty happy with Millie around, though. Happier than he usually is. “I… don’t think I’d really know, either.” He’s had a lot of chances; if he wanted to, he probably could’ve been with somebody. But Vash never really liked that idea—actually, it sort of _scared_ him. Never mind how that person would be in constant danger—even now, the whole idea of a relationship, period _,_ still makes him feel weird. He has no idea why, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s still not the type of person who should be in a relationship, for a million different reasons. Besides—he’s always had more important things to do.

“Really?” Meryl sounds surprised, and she rushes to keep talking, like she wants to cover up how shocked she was. “So, in a hundred and thirty-something years, with all the people you met, you never _once… ?”_

“Nope.” Chuckling quietly, he says, “But sometimes people remind me a lot of my family. You know—the people from the ship I grew up on.” Not just the ship where he was born, though; people like the professor, and Jessica, Brad, and lots of others. “Or they make me think of Rem. I think that’s nicer, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah?” Meryl smiles softly, and Vash can’t help but copy her. She looks so different when she smiles like that—so _kind_. “That’s a pretty high compliment, Vash. She sounds like she was an incredible person.”

“She was. She was a lot like you.” Vash answers immediately, and Meryl goes redder than he’s ever seen her.

“W-Well, the dishes are done, so I don’t know why we’re hanging around in here!” Meryl steps sideways and jerkily wipes her hands on a towel, even though her hands have been dry for a few minutes now. “Let’s get back out there. We’re being rude.”

* * *

It’s so late, Vash has trouble remembering where he is, or even who he is, when he wakes up. He stares at the dark ceiling, trying to figure out what time it is and why he’s not asleep, when he hears loud, sloppy-sounding voices downstairs.

“Don’ you shooosh me! Yer bein’ louder’n _me_ , mister!”

It’s Millie, and as soon as Vash’s head stops feeling so fuzzy, he realizes she’s drunk. Like, _super drunk_. And she’s not the only one.

“’M sorry. Sorreh. Yer right, mm. Hmm. ‘M so glad yer here.” There’s a sound of a wet, messy kiss, and Millie snorting. Vash gags to himself.

“Shhh. Okay. Less get inside.” The door creaks and Millie and Wolfwood whisper-shout all the way across the living room underneath him and up the creaky stairs—then back down them again when they remember they’re supposed to be sleeping in the living room. Meryl took Wolfwood’s bed, and Lina and Grams are in the other room, and judging by Meryl’s soft snoring, Vash is the only one who woke up from the noise.

He keeps waiting for Millie and Wolfwood to quiet down, but every time it seems like they’re about to sleep, they start whispering or laughing again. Finally— _finally_ —they go quiet for real, and Vash tries to get comfortable. Sitting up, he groans, then turns slowly onto his side, grabbing an extra pillow to put under his stomach. (Without it, it’s almost like he’s getting dragged right through the mattress from how heavy it’s gotten.) Eyes screwed shut, he tries to drift off, but starts thinking about…

God, he doesn’t know. Now he’s thinking about what Meryl said, and what he said to _her_. He’s never felt that way—the way Millie and Wolfwood feel—about anybody. And even if he never wanted to, talking about it makes him miss having a family. Having people who were there for him, and who knew him completely. The kind of people he could trust with anything, the same way he and Knives and Rem used to be.

It makes the core of his chest feel like it’s getting dug out; this deep, burning ache sitting behind his heart. He does miss Knives, even now—even with how horrible he could be towards the end. Because, even when he was hunting Vash down like a madman, at least Vash was too busy running to ever slow down and think about this kind of stuff. If he had, he probably wouldn’t have been able to make it as far as he did.

Heaving a huge sigh, Vash curls an arm around his belly as the baby squirms. Huh. It’s almost like it’s as restless as Vash is. Mouth twitching, Vash feels the weird urge to smile. It’s not the same as having someone there he can talk to, and it’s definitely not the same as having Knives or Rem back, but tonight, for whatever reason, it makes him feel better.


	15. Generator

The next morning, Vash walks down into what feels like a top secret meeting. Wolfwood, Meryl, and Millie are all around the table, whispering, and they freeze and go completely quiet when Vash comes into the dining room.

“Uh.” Grinning, he closes his eyes and scratches his head uncomfortably. “You guys aren’t talking about me, are you?”

“Give me a break, Needlenoggin.” Wolfwood squashes the cigarette he was smoking into the ashtray. “Don’t you think we’ve got more important things to do than gossip about your bun in the oven?”

“Although, that is an exciting thing to talk about!” adds Millie cheerfully.

“Wolfwood’s orphanage called,” Meryl says, pulling out a chair for Vash as he walks over.

“Turns out they’re changing up the power grid.” Sitting up, Wolfwood grabs the salt shaker and puts it on top of a napkin so he can demonstrate what he means. “We used to be above the same grid as the rest of the city, but now…” He pushes the shaker over a couple inches off the napkin. “We’re just outside the range.”

Vash eases down slowly, then scoots in as much as his stomach will let him. “Why would they do that?”

“They’re not targeting the orphanage, if that’s what you think.” Meryl rolls her eyes when she says that, and Wolfwood growls under his breath. Something tells Vash they probably don’t agree on that. “They did this about five years ago in Belnaryl. Tightening up the grid system lets a city’s plant waste less energy. They’ve done studies on this! They needed fewer repairs, the residents reported an increase in personal power supply—“

“You think I give a crap about that?” Foot starting to tap under the table, Wolfwood rakes a hand through his hair. “Try telling the kids at the orphanage they oughta be happy. Sure, they’ve got no water or electricity, but the town next door’s doing _so_ much better!” Giving another sigh, Wolfwood slouches backwards again. “When I called the courthouse, they said the church is outside the jurisdiction—otherwise they might be able to help cover the cost of moving the kids somewhere in town. But they can’t, so we’re screwed. Unless I come up with a _real job_ , and soon, those kids’ll be begging on the street by next week.”

“A real job?” Vash thought he was ‘bodyguarding’ him, but there’s no way Grams can afford a hefty salary. Wolfwood said she begged him to do it, and he probably agreed as a favor more than anything.

“We’ll try and help however we can!” Millie insists.

“Absolutely,” agrees Meryl.

“Forget it,” Wolfwood grumbles. “Sorry, girls. Unless one of you is secretly the daughter of a millionaire, there’s not a whole lot you can do to help.” He pokes at his used cigarette, like he regrets putting it out so soon. “The older kids are smart. They can keep things running until I get back there. Might have to beat up the city planner for a little more time, but if I leave tonight I can make it out there in a few days.”

Vash doesn’t really know why, but he gets zapped by a bolt of nervousness when Wolfwood says that. “What?”

“At least let me go over some zoning laws with you,” Meryl says. “There could be some sort of legal loophole that prevents them from changing the grid. It can’t hurt to look.”

“Fine.” A hand clamped over his mouth, Wolfwood stares at the salt shaker. “I know it’ll take them a while to get that new grid in, but don’t know where they’re gonna start. They might cut us off anywhere from tomorrow to three months from now, but I can’t afford not being there.”

Vash’s brain feels totally empty. At first, it’s like he’s hearing everything from really far away. And then, before he even catches up with whatever he’s saying, he blurts out— “GENERATOR!”

The rest of the table goes quiet.

“What?” Meryl whispers.

“I—You don’t have to go back. I mean—! You _can_ go back, y-you just—“ Vash swallows. “You don’t need to. I know how to bring the power back in the orphanage, without a plant.”

“Oh, this oughta be good.” Crossing his arms, Wolfwood slouches even more. “You still don’t remember whatever the hell you did to _me_ , but somehow you’re gonna give off enough power to run a whole building?”

“Are you always this ungrateful?” Rolling his eyes, Vash grumbles, “If it wasn’t for those orphans, I’d just keep this to myself.”

“We both know you’re too much a sap to do that, so quit pulling my leg and spit it out already.” Wolfwood flicks a last, uneaten bit of sausage at him.

“Knives’ old ship has a generator,” Vash says. “That’s how he healed himself after July. I could never go near the thing with the Gung-Ho Guns and Knives around, but now, it’d be easy to take it!” He watches as Wolfwood’s eyebrows climb up as the guy tries not to look too impressed. “I could hook it up to the orphanage, and I’ll show you how to keep it running.” He hasn’t been on a SEEDS ship in forever, but there are still some things Vash remembers about operating the equipment. “And you know I’ll be around for a long time, so I can keep checking on it. Actually, we both—“ Vash stops himself. Yeah, that’s right—Meryl and Millie don’t know about Wolfwood’s new and improved lifespan. The guy probably won’t appreciate Vash spilling the beans. “I’ll, uh… teach you! So we both know how to use it.”

Wolfwood’s silent for a good ten seconds, and then, slowly, he gets to his feet, walks over to Vash, and—

“Uh.” Vash blinks dumbly as Wolfwood bends down and _hugs_ him.

“Damn it, Needlenoggin.” Vash feels Wolfwood’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows roughly, right next to his ear. “You really forgot how this works, huh? You’re supposed to be a pain in my ass, not _saving_ my ass. Save that martyr crap for everybody else.” He buries his face in Vash’s shoulder, probably so his voice is muffled when he mumbles, “Thank you.” The hug lasts long enough for Vash to not be sure if he should hug Wolfwood back, so his arms stay at his sides like wet noodles. Just as his face is starting to get warm, Wolfwood gives him a pat on the shoulder, one last tight squeeze, and lets him go. Wolfwood’s smiling this really weird smile, all… _soft_ and gentle, the way he smiles at kids, or Millie, and Vash just stares stupidly up at him til Wolfwood’s smile shrinks and his cheeks go pink, too.

“Aww!” Millie claps her hands together and laughs. “You guys are so sweet!” Vash jerks his head over to look at her, and she grins back at him, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Wolfwood jerks and jumps back like he just got burned, then clears his throat. “I… “ His eyes go over to Millie, who’s beaming at him, and Meryl, who’s looking back and forth between him and Vash with a frown, before landing on Vash— “I think I left something at the bar. Millie—?”

“YAAAAAAAAAAY!” Millie jumps up so fast the chair nearly flips out from under her. Fists in the air, she cheers, “Booze! Booze! Booze!” Skirting around the table, she scrambles up to Wolfwood, then turns around and asks, “Vash? Meryl? Do you guys wanna c—?”

“NO!” Meryl and Wolfwood shout it at the exact same moment.

“Millie, he can’t drink!” Meryl covers her eyes tiredly. “And… _no_. No, I’m good.”

They watch Millie and Wolfwood hurry out the door, and the second they’re gone Meryl asks: “What on earth was that about?”

“I…” Vash licks his lips, still staring at the door when he shakes his head. “… have no idea.”

* * *

It’s been almost a month since Vash was alone in the house, so of course, he’s gonna enjoy the freedom! Lina and Grams went to get groceries, Wolfwood and Millie are out at the bar again, and Meryl’s… shopping. She yelled at Vash for a solid ten minutes when she found out that he hadn’t bought anything for the baby, and since Vash couldn’t tell her that he’s still not sure he’ll _keep it_ , he didn’t really have an argument. He just had to stand there and listen to her go off. But he didn’t feel that bad when he offered, pretty reluctantly, to come along, and she turned him down. Although, her _reason_ was… Yeah, Vash doesn’t like thinking about why she had him stay here. Last time he talked to the professor, his best guess was that Vash would be having the kid any day now, and Meryl really took that to heart. She freaks out if he stands up too fast, and the last time the baby kicked him extra hard, Meryl was ready to start boiling water and tearing up sheets.

Wolfwood’s been in and out—mostly out—for the past two days, and in the couple minutes he was around, he told Vash they could wait until he could “walk without looking like a duck” to go and get the generator. He didn’t even stick around long enough for Vash to ask whether the orphanage would be okay until then. Instead, he had to ask Meryl, and she played the dumbest game of telephone ever where she asked Millie, who asked Wolfwood, who told her that the older kids had found out construction on the grid wouldn’t start for another few weeks.

It hits him that he _could_ sneak out if he wanted to, but for the past few days, he hasn’t even wanted to move. His back hurts, and he’s had a stomachache that just won’t go away. Every muscle in his body is sore. He slept like crap last night, and it’s getting to the point where he feels so big and clumsy that he doesn’t even want to walk around the house unless he absolutely has to. If he were feeling any less sick, that would probably scare him a lot more than it does. He knows that, if he were staying in a different town, something crazy would’ve definitely happened by now. Something even bigger than the fiasco where Vash got shot. And if it happened now, Vash would be too slow and weak to help anybody. That scares the shit out of him, and he hates having thoughts like that. But it was either sitting around the house, thinking those things, or shopping with Meryl, and the first thing…

Yeah, that’s still _way_ better.

Vash doesn’t want to picture looking at cribs and blankets and things, like he’s going to have a place to put them. Like he’s going to stay here for a long time, or like he’s going to actually take care of it. Of _him_. Shit. Vash knows how bad that sounds! Of course he does! And, yeah, it’s a terrible thing to think, but that’s still how he feels, and he can’t help that.

Almost like the baby can tell just how horrible Vash is feeling, there’s suddenly a lot of slow squirming and kicks. Groaning, Vash rubs at his stomach. Even that’s starting to hurt. Or… maybe that isn’t what’s hurting. His guts have been aching on and off for a few days now, but Vash is pretty sure it doesn’t mean anything. Right? If every part of his body hurts equally, that’s probably just how it is, being—y’know, _this pregnant._ He knows he’s getting close to when this will all end, but he isn’t that close. There would be a sign, right? Something impossible to ignore.

And the moment he tempts fate with that thought is the same moment he feels a huge gush of _something_ soak the insides of his pants.


	16. Ceylon Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm guesstimating at around 22 chapters, but it maybe be one or two more than that? I have no idea if anyone cares but yeah lol. The fic is all plotted out, so I hope that I can continue hammering it out for you guys!

It’s a real shame the bar’s not more crowded during the day. Nicholas already knew this town was full of prudes—hell, that’s why he and Vash set up shop here—but this is ridiculous! The place is basically empty. But hey, at least he’s got a girl who can appreciate the joys of day drinking with him. Millie might not hold her own as well as some of Nicholas’s old bar mates, but she’s never gone on angry rants like that Meryl does, and she’s _definitely_ never puked on his shoes like Needlenoggin. She toasts him again when the barkeep refills his glass, and he thinks that might be the same drink she’s been nursing all afternoon. For such a big gal, Millie’s a damn lightweight.

And, since it _is_ just the two of them in here, she probably won’t mind if he gets a little friendly, right? He’s a man, after all! And men have needs—especially when they’re forced to keep it in their pants for a while. Vash might not look like it right now, but he’s still technically a man, which means Nicholas had nothing but an old woman, a little kid, and another _guy_ for company all last month. He’s so starved for attention, he practically faints ever time Millie’s hand brushes up against him. Figuring he’s held back long enough, Nicholas scoots over on his stool and throws an arm around Millie, and she laughs, but gets this funny look on her face.

“What?” Nicholas is trying not to slur too bad, but it’s Millie, after all! She probably won’t even notice. _God_ , he loves that about her. “Don’t tell me you’re getting shy, big girl.”

“Ahhh! Misser Wolfwood—“ She hiccups, and gives him a huge, dopey grin that makes his heart melt. “—take it easy on me!” She ducks her head down and whispers, “’M a virgin.”

Nicholas snorts. “Okay—Now, we _both_ know that’s not true.”

“It’s not?” She looks scandalized for all of two seconds before she starts giggling. “Oh yeah! I forgot.”

“Alright.” Nicholas rolls his eyes, still smiling, but that knocked some of the buzz out of him. “That’s insulting.”

“It is?” Doing this weird grimace, Millie wobbles on her stool as she squirms out from under his arm. “’M sorry.”

“Ehh, that’s alright.” With a feeble pat to her back, Nicholas sighs under his breath. “What kind of priest would I be if I didn’t offer a little forgiveness now and then?”

Millie nods, and looks like she’s disappearing into her own thoughts. That’s odd. Come to think of it, Nicholas isn’t so sure he’s ever actually seen her… _do that._ And then, all of a sudden, her head pops back up and she’s got this massive smile on her face. “Hey, did I ever tell you about the first time I tried Ceylon tea?”

“Uhh.” Where the hell is this coming from? Giving a shrug, Nicholas decides to humor her. “Y’know, Millie, I don’t think you did.”

“Well, my family _really_ loves coffee. With so many brothers and sisters, and so much going on, I think my parents needed it to survive.” She’s turning her drink in her hand, watching the ice cubes clink and rearrange themselves in the glass while she talks. “So, when I was eight, they let me try a sip for the first time. And— _eugch!_ I hated it! I thought it was the worst thing I’d ever tasted. But then my sister added five creams and two whole teaspoons of sugar and—“

Smirking, Nicholas interjects, “You loved it?”

“Nope!” Turning that smile towards him again, Millie goes on. “But I liked it better. And I thought, ‘this tastes pretty good. If everybody else is drinking it, I think I can drink it, too.’ I wanted to fit in with the rest of my family and understand how they could all love this stupid drink _so much!_ But I never really got it until I tried Ceylon tea.”

Oh boy. Now Nicholas is officially lost. “Alright. I’ll bite—what happened when you tried the tea?”

“It was amazing!” Millie breathes out, and she honestly reminds Nicholas of some awestruck mortal who’s just seen an angel for the first time. “It gave me energy, and it tasted _so_ good, even without all the sugar and cream. And I thought, ‘I can’t believe I wasted all those years trying to like coffee!’ I probably could’ve spent the rest of my life drinking it, and trying to tell myself that I liked it, but it just wasn’t for me. And I never would’ve known if I didn’t try something different.” When she finishes talking, Wolfwood just stares at her for a moment, and Millie hunches her shoulders, cheeks going pink. “Eheh.” Picking at her chin, she tilts her head sheepishly. “Wow, sorry! That was kind of a dumb story, huh?”

“What? Nooo.” Of course it was, but that’s just one more reason Nicholas likes her so damn much. She’s… uncomplicated! “I loved every word of it. In fact…” She might’ve had the right idea, there. Nicholas hails the barkeep over, ordering, “Could I get a Ceylon tea for the lady? Oh, and a black coffee for me.” Maybe it’s time they started sobering up. He puts a hand on her back, but Millie’s muscles tense up under his palm, and Nicholas feels funny enough about it to pull away. Ehh—it’s probably nothing, but he won’t push it. Nicholas grabs the coffee as soon as the bartender sets it down in front of him, not even bothering to blow on it as he takes a swig. Why the hell not, right? If anything, he figures scalding his throat is only going to help clear his head faster.

Millie sips her tea, and they’re both quiet for just long enough for Nicholas to get worried, and it’s right about then that Lina rushes in. “Millie! Mister Preacher?”

See, this is a real problem on Gunsmoke. There are so many bars in every town, kids are just as likely to come barging into ‘em as adults are. “Do me a favor, kiddo—come back in a couple minutes, all right?”

“Whuh—!? _No!_ This is an emergency!” Scrambling over to the bar, Lina stands next to their stools, looking ready to cry as she bursts out, “Eriks is _gone!”_

Nicholas scratches his nose, thinking. “… Who?”

“Eriks!” Lina looks like she could throttle him. To be fair, Nicholas has gotten that look over everything from trying to swindle around 50,000 double dollars from a pop up casino to skipping out on a woman who _swore_ she ‘didn’t want to make any commitments, just to see where the evening goes’ the morning after. Anyway, when Nicholas still doesn’t get whatever she’s trying to say, Lina grabs at her head like she’s about to tear her hear out, shouting, “VASH! _Vash_ is gone!”

“Oh.” Wolfwood downs another slurp of coffee. “Why didn’t you say so, kid?” What’s she so worried about, anyway? Vash up and disappears all the time. She was pretty damn lucky to get a real goodbye the first time it happened, but Nicholas guesses she had to learn sooner or later—

“No! Ohhh, no!” Millie’s halfway falling off the stool, then stumbling back on her feet. “When did you get home? How long do you think he’s been gone?”

“What? Come on, ladies! Calm down, will you?” Are all women this hysterical? He probably just stepped out to grab some food. What’s the worst that could happen? “Oh, _shit_.” Annnnd it all comes flooding back: how Vash managed to get shot once already, and how that was when he was at least twice as fast and half as _round_ as he is now. Still, that was a fluke! Vash’s luck is complete shit, but even he couldn’t manage to get himself almost killed _twice_ while knocked up. Probably. “Look. Wherever he went, he can’tve gone far. I bet he’s just around the corner, trying to sweet talk the lady at the donut shop into giving him the stale ones she’s supposed to throw out.” That’s an educated guess, by the way. Nicholas has seen Needlenoggin do that at least three times before.

“We need to go look for him right away.” Millie acts like she didn’t hear a word Nicholas said, grabbing his hand so she can drag him towards the door. To his credit, Nicholas snaps out of it pretty quick and starts pulling his own weight, jogging alongside her with Lina tailing behind them. “This was stupid! I don’t know why we came here—somebody should’ve been looking after him!”

“Whuh—!?” Now, Nicholas understands the severity of the situation and all (even if the idiot is just out buying donuts, he wouldn’t put it past Vash to find a way to make even _that_ dangerous) but this is getting ridiculous. “He’s old enough to be your great-great-great-grandfather! He doesn’t need anybody ‘looking after’ him.”

“Then how come you were body-guarding him, huh?” Millie turns to pout at him, and _damn_ , Nicholas wishes she didn’t look so cute. Makes it real hard to be pissed off, no matter how dumb the point she’s making is. “Vash isn’t stupid, but he doesn’t take care of himself very well. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Guys, wait up!” Lina’s struggling to keep up and… Huh. Nicholas didn’t really notice at first, but both he and Millie are half-jogging, and that squirt’s stubby legs aren’t any match for that.

“Look!” Nicholas groans, yanking his hand free of Millie’s grip. It’s not easy—that girl’s got the finger-strength of Goliath himself. “I just came up with that ‘bodyguard’ story so I could pretend I had a real reason for sticking around.”

“Well, if you weren’t being his body-guard, why _did_ you stay here?” She’s still sounding pissy, but there’s this note of curiosity in her voice when she asks him that.

Jerking to a halt, Nicholas freezes. “I—“ Well, he was…

Uh.

 _Listen!_ He had a good reason at the time. Best he can figure, it was probably because he thought it’d make Millie happy, not because he felt bad for Vash. And, sure, he did sympathize with Needlenoggin a little, but… “Well, that’s just what any man of God would do, right?”

“… Hmph.” Just as Lina catches up with them again, doubling over to catch her breath, Millie starts off a second time, holding her nose in the air like some rich snob.

“Great.” Growling under his breath, Nicholas gives Lina’s back an encouraging kind of shove and stomps after the big girl. “Millie, come on!” He manages to close the distance between them and lowers his voice. “Listen: I don’t know why you’re mad at me, but can’t it wait? Sure, that living broomstick’s probably just ‘eating for two’ in the café right now, but if he really is lost, we’re never gonna find him just stomping around town in circles.”

“W-Well,” puffs Lina, “d’you have a better idea?”

“ _You_ go back to the house,” Nicholas snaps, and Lina bristles immediately.

“What! No way! Why?”

With his hand raised in a ‘shush’ position, like he’s talking a toddler down from a tantrum. “Because, if Vash really _has_ gotten into trouble, I guarantee it’s not something a kid like you should be around.”

“I’ve been through a lot of stuff people said I couldn’t handle.” That pout sure seems contradictory, but Nicholas lets her finish. “I’m tougher than I look. And Eriks is my friend! I want to make sure he’s okay.”

“Lina, you’re Vash’s friend, too!” Millie pipes up, and Nicholas notices it’s in a completely different tone than the one she was just using with him. “That’s why, if he really is in trouble, he wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

Lina’s mouth opens, and she obviously wants to make some smart-aleck comment back, but Millie’s got her in a stalemate. After a pause, she clenches her hands and glowers at the ground.

“Besides, somebody should stay at the house in case he comes back there first.” Smiling sweetly, Millie leans down and pats Lina’s hair a few times. “I’m sure Nicholas is right. Vash probably just went to get some food, and he’s going to come back and wonder why we were all so worried.”

“Fine.” Gritting her jaw, Lina lifts her head and gives a stiff nod. “I’ll check back at the house—but I’m going to keep looking for him on my own!” With that, she tears off running in the opposite direction, like she’s worried Millie and Nicholas’ll give chase to try and change her mind.

Scoffing, Nicholas shakes his head. “… Stubborn kid.” No wonder Vash loves her.

Millie clears her throat, and Nicholas glances over. “Where do you think he _really_ went?” They’re right outside the bakery, and there’s no sign of him when Nicholas glances through those giant windows. 

“No idea.” And, wherever he is, if Vash doesn’t want to be found, even a tiny town like this might as well be a labyrinth. Frowning, Nicholas turns and barks at an old man sweeping his front porch off. “Hey! ‘Scuse me!”

The geezer’s head pops up and he squints at Nicholas. “Er—Yes?”

“Have you seen a huuuuge pregnant lady around here? Bad haircut? Probably doing something stupid?”

“Nicholas!” Millie hisses at him through her teeth, but hell—not like Vash is here to get all insulted, right?

“Well, uh… Now that you mention it, I did see young woman pass by earlier.” He rubs a hand over his bald head as he adds, “Tall? Short, blonde hair?”

“Yup.” Nicholas nods towards Millie. “That’s our Needlenoggin.”

“I noticed she had a real strange look on her face. And she was walkin’ right out into the desert.” Guy probably doesn’t get a lot of chances to talk, because he throws his arms around and puts his whole heart into the performance. “I said, ‘you won’t wanna go out there on your own! Next town’s not for a hundred iles.’ But she didn’t pay me no mind, and just kept going.”

“Out that way?” Pointing as clearly as he can, Nicholas waits for the old guy to nod, then ushers for Millie to follow. “Come on.”

They break into a sprint together, and just before they reach the edge of town, the geezer calls out after them, “I hope you find her! Nothing that way but broken tech and ruins!”

Millie huffs, and since they’re already running pretty damn hard, she has to make it extra loud and pissy sounding so Nicholas can hear it. “This wouldn’t have happened if you were watching Vash!”

“Oh, what!? I can’t leave him alone for a few hours? That’s worse than a _dog_. I mean, at least they’re potty trained.” Nicholas doesn’t get it—why the hell is this his fault, all of a sudden? Maybe he’s in charge of babysitting whenever he’s back at his church, so he could see why Millie might think it’s his day job, but the big difference there is that Vash isn’t a goddamn baby _._ “ _Christ_. Aren’t you happy to see me?” It’s been almost a month, right? Nicholas hasn’t been keeping great track of time, but he _does_ know that he’s missed her like hell.

“Of course I’m happy to see you, stupid!” Oh boy. The “s” word. It’s getting serious. “I just think…” Millie slows down, jogging for a bit, then dragging her feet as she walks. “Maybe… you’re trying too hard.”

“’Trying too hard?’” What? Nicholas stumbles and slows down, too, stopping next to her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s… “ There’s a long pause while Millie thinks. “M-Maybe… Maybe that wasn’t…” Seems like she can’t make up her mind, but finally she settles on, “What I’m trying to say is… it didn’t take you very long to get to know me. And I’m—I’m probably exactly the type of person you think I am!” Something about the way she keeps staring at the sand while she talks just doesn’t sit right with Nicholas. “But I’m okay with that. It makes me happy! A-And, I think you’re a really good person. And… I love you.”

“Millie—“ Did he hear that? Did she _really_ just say that to him?

“But I don’t think I know you very well. And I don’t…” Nicholas can’t really say why those words sting so much, but they’re nothing compared to the next few. “I don’t _understand_ you. And if I did, I’m not sure I’d like you as much as I do now.”

“… What are you saying?” A second ago, his heart just about stopped when she said she loved him. Now, all Nicholas feels is a red-hot pain in his chest.

Millie sniffs, standing frozen for another moment before she quickly wipes her nose, turns to Nicholas and—

 _Damn._ That fake-ass smile blew Vash’s right out of the water. “Let’s keep looking, okay?”

“… Sure.” Nicholas nods numbly, following the way a stray dog does when a new stranger shows up. After all, even if you’ve been kicked over and over again, there’s still a tiny chance this time’ll be different.

Turns out, the geezer was right: there’s nothing out here but ruins. Huge, spiky, metallic debris, left from some lost ship, sprawling up out of the sand the way Nicholas always heard July’s skyscrapers did. Huge pieces are still intact, not too different from that place he and Vash went tearing through the first time they met. Luckily, he’s figuring that, with the town so close, any security bots would’ve been dealt with a long time ago. Still, that doesn’t make this _easy_. Even though Nicholas can’t figure out why the hell he’d _want_ to, there are still plenty of places Vash could hide.

“Vash?” Millie cups her hands around her mouth and screams louder, wandering into the thick of the ruins. Nicholas follows her, and together they slide down a rocky slope and head towards what seems like a mostly-intact chunk of ship. “Vaaaaaaaaaaash! Are you here?”

At first, there’s only the sound of the wind whipping the sand around. But then, real faint, and off in the distance, Nicholas hears a noise. A familiar noise.

“Oh no.”

See, a few years back, a woman came to the orphanage in the middle of the night. She started telling Nicholas and the nuns that she wanted to give up her child. The one she hadn’t exactly _had_ yet. She begged them to stay and deliver the kid there—Nicholas never got the reason out of her, but like hell was he going to try and get one when he could already tell she’d been through the wringer. Maybe the dad didn’t want to help raise the kid, or maybe she’d run away and never told her family out of shame. But either way, Nicholas, Sister Lily and Sister Ophelia ended up playing hospital that night. Both she and the kid made it out of there fine, and the mom even changed her mind the moment she ended up holding her baby girl. But that night, when she was in the throes of it… Those _sounds_ she made, all deep, and low, and full of so much _pain._ Nicholas’ll never forget them.

And now, he’s hearing them again.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god i didn't mean for this update to take like six months!! i even have a buncha chapters saved up just sitting there waiting to be edited. what can i say other than covid's wild shit

“ _Vash_!”

Vash is more exhausted than he’s been in years. Feels like he’s pulling himself out of a swamp when he wakes up. Sure, he hears somebody calling his name and all, but he’s so tired and sore he’d do just about anything to sleep for a few more minutes. He’s just gonna pretend he doesn’t hear, curling up into a ball.

“He’s in here! Right there, by the wall!”

It’s Millie, and she sounds so worried. Huh. Maybe he’s still dreaming? That’d be nice. If this is a dream, he won’t have anybody trying to wake him up. Now there’s another pair of footsteps echoing around… Whoever it is, he can hear them get closer and closer until they stop right in front of him.

“Ohh, look at him…” Now Millie sounds sad. She’s almost whispering as she adds, “He doesn’t look too good, Nicholas.” Nicholas? Who’s… ? _Oh_. Right. Wolfwood. “We need to be gentle, okay? He’s in a very delicate state right n—“

“Yeah—fuck that.”

He opens his eyes a crack and sees Wolfwood crouch in front of him. Then, just like that, strong hands are grabbing at his shoulders, yanking him up, and shaking him like a ragdoll. Vash screams, kicking dumbly as his eyes bug out. “ _AUGH!_ What! _What!?”_

“NICHOLAS!” Millie lunges at him, yanking Wolfwood back by the arm so he’ll stop jerking Vash around. Vash blinks a couple times, waits for his vision to stop blurring, then stares hazily at both of them. “Stop it.”

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” He gives Vash another shake before Millie stops him again, snapping, “I knew you were a dumbass, but this is ridiculous! What are you doing out here!?”

“Out… here?” Uh. Wait a second. Wolfwood’s the one who brought Vash out here, right? Out to Lina and Gram’s. Except, now that Vash actually looks around, he has no idea where the three of them are. He’s in a dark, metal hallway, the floor sprinkled with sand, with a curved wall behind him that’s been bolted together from lots of smaller pieces of aluminum. Panels have fallen off, exposing wires and broken bulbs, and it doesn’t take long for Vash to start recognizing things. This is an old SEEDS ship. One that’s been badly stripped down, too: there’s nothing valuable left, and anything that _could_ be useful was only left behind because it would’ve been too heavy to carry.

“I’m sure he had a good reason.” Millie eases down onto the floor as Wolfwood sets him back down, prying the guy’s fingers off Vash’s shirt and scooting between them almost protectively. She smiles at Vash, but it looks uneasy. And, almost like his body’s responding to that face she’s making, his guts give this horrible, really painful twinge. “… Whatever it is.”

“I…” Vash screws his eyes shut, trying hard to think. Last thing he remembers, it was morning, he was in the house, and everyone else was gone. Now, he has no idea what time it is, he’s in a SEEDS ship, probably in the middle of nowhere. The only good thing is that, unless Millie looks _real_ good for her age, he hasn’t lost track of time for an entire decade. But there’s still another problem. “I think I… blacked out again.” He sniffs, sitting up straighter, gritting his teeth as his stomach does this weird, slow clenching… thing. “Like after July. I was at Lina and Gram’s, and I was by myself, and— _ow!”_ What the hell!? It hurt pretty bad for a second, but now, all of a sudden, it’s like the pain is multiplying, out of control. Face screwing up, he grabs at his middle, hunching into a miserable ball while he groans. “O-Ow. _Owww…_ I-It—it hu… _hurts._ R-Really bad.”

“Oh, quit hamming it up, will you?” He watches Wolfwood’s feet through squinted eyes as the other man stands. “I’m not gonna throw you around anymore, so you can quit whining.”

“’M not… _whining!”_ Vash takes a huge, slow, shuddering breath, closing his eyes as the pain builds and builds and then… fades away. Gasping, he sits up as soon as he can, even though he already feels like the ache’s starting again. “It _seriously_ hurts!”

“Vash?” When Vash turns to Millie, he has to gulp: he’s not sure if he’s ever seen her with a more serious look on her face. Even though her eyes are wide, and she’s staring at Vash in this crazy intense way, it’s like she’s got no expression at all. “Can you describe the pain to me?”

“Y-Yeah.” Sure. Why not? Vash has had so many different wounds over the last century, he’s probably felt more different kinds of pain than most people _ever_ will. But this one’s still pretty unique. “I-It’s… It’s like this… _burning_ that gets worse and worse. R-Right here.” He tightens one fist when he says ‘burning’, then grabs at the lower part of his belly with both hands to show Millie where it’s happening.

Wolfwood snorts and Millie shoots him a glare.

“And… it went away, _kind of_ , but…” His forehead’s stinging like he’s gonna start sweating soon—from either the stress of waking up who-knows-how-many iles from Lina’s, or from how badly he’s hurting, he’s not really sure. “It’s… sss… _starting_ to c-come back. It’s not that bad, for a ff… few seconds, but then it’s…” He shakes his head. “ _Really_ bad.”

“Give me a break,” grumbles Wolfwood.

“Oh, _Vash,”_ Millie coos.

At first, Vash thinks she’s going to tell him that he’s dying, but that’s not quite it. “I think you’re in labor.”

“Heh. Oh, thank God! I thought you were gonna tell me I was _really_ in trouble for a min—“ Then, when it hits him, he and Wolfwood have the exact same reaction. Just a flat, dumbstruck, “What.”

“I can’t believe this!” Millie rounds on Wolfwood like a rabid dog. “If we’d been watching him instead of out drinking at bars, this never would have happened!”

“Whuh— _us!?_ Why the hell is this _our_ fault?” Wolfwood’s cheeks go pink and he stiffens up. Yeah, Vash would really be enjoying this if he wasn’t hurting so much. “I didn’t drive him out into the desert and throw him overboard. Needlenoggin did this _aaaaaaall_ on his own.”

“I thought you promised you were going to take care of him!” snaps Millie. She ducks down to grab Vash’s arm, putting it around her shoulder so she can help him stand.

“Have you lost your mind?” Vash takes one weak, wobbly step and makes a noise like he’s going to pass out,. Wolfwood stomps over to his other side, roughly grabbing his left arm and draping it over his shoulders, too. “He’s a grown man, _and_ one of the most powerful beings on the planet. I couldn’t have stopped him even if I wanted to.”

“Uh—guys?” This can wait, right? Vash’s heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his skull, but Millie and Wolfwood keep going like they didn’t even hear him.

“None of that matters right now.” Millie starts walking and Wolfwood matches her pace angrily. Vash tries to walk, too, but mostly, he’s just getting dragged along. “He’s in a delicate state. And there’s the baby to worry about, not just Vash. _And_ , this isn’t the point!”

Wolfwood growls, his stomps echoing through the ship. “Okay—what _is_ the point?” They make it to the end of the hall, then turn a corner and head towards the light bleeding in through a broken spot in the hull.

“The point is that Vash was in trouble, and he needed somebody like you to be there for him.” Millie lifts a leg and kicks a loose piece of metal away from a gaping hole in the wall, making it wide enough for three people to fit through. “And you weren’t, because you’ve been so scared of your own feelings that you don’t even want to go him.”

“Guys! _Guuuuys.”_ Vash is half-crying—sure, part of that’s because of the cramps—but mostly it’s ‘cause Millie and Wolfwood seem to think it’s a great idea to have this conversation while they drag Vash through the sand like a dead body. “This s-seems like a good… thh… thing to talk about… _later!”_

“The hell are you talking about?” Vash was following up until the part where Millie said that last part, and now it sounds like Wolfwood’s just as lost as he is. “What ‘feelings’? You think I’m _scared_ of the humanoid _broomstick_ here?”

“Well, that’s just rude,” moans Vash, but he can’t add on to that thought because he’s too busy cringing in pain.

“Not _scared.”_ Millie sighs and stops completely. Wolfwood stumbles, and so does Vash. He really, _really_ hopes this is something good. If he has to spend one second too long standing out here in the desert, hurting more and more every second, he’s going to lose his mind. “Oh, Nicholas…” Coming out of anybody else’s mouth, that probably would’ve sounded condescending, but from Millie? It just sounds sad and disappointed, and there’s a tiny hint of something else, like she’s hurting _for_ Wolfwood.

“What?” Wolfwood stares her down, and Vash stares up at him as he does that, and in that moment, he swears this insane, electric jolt zips through all three of them. See, Vash has never been in a real thunderstorm. But Rem once ran a simulation for him and Knives. He remembers standing by a cliff, hearing the thunder rumble, watching the lightning smash the sky apart. It was like the most massive animal imaginable: a sandworm the size of a mountain, or a living sand steamer. And just before it hit, there was this pure mix of nervousness and excitement. Vash never understood why, but Rem called it the ‘calm before the storm’. That feeling before all hell breaks loose. Vash feels that now, and it’s like the heavens open up over their heads when Millie speaks.

“I think… you’re in love with Vash.”

Wolfwood just stops. Digs his heels in while Millie keeps going, which makes her and Vash stumble, and for a split (honestly, kind of great) second Vash is so worried about falling he doesn’t even think about what Millie just said. And then—then, he _does._

“Wh…” Gulping, Vash stares at her, fighting the wild urge to yank his arm off of Wolfwood’s shoulders, as if he’s contaminated with some disease. “ _What?”_

“Is this some kind of joke?” Wolfwood’s gone totally stiff, and he doesn’t even budge when Millie tugs at Vash’s arm, trying to get them to keep walking. “Look—if I did something to piss you off, I’m _sorry,_ but now’s not really the time to be spouting crazy shit out of the blue.”

“It’s not crazy!” Millie snaps, tugging on Vash a little harder so that Wolfwood reluctantly moves his feet.

Gritting his teeth as another cramp rolls slowly through him, Vash pants, “Millie, th-that’s… ” Before he can stop himself, he glances at Wolfwood, and they lock eyes. With a groan, Vash jerks his face away. “I-I can see how you might… g-get that idea, with his whole… e-everybody’s equal in the eyes of God thing, but—“ He can’t say ‘it’s crazy’ again, since he doesn’t want to be an asshole to the person who’s gonna carry him out of the desert while he’s in extreme pain, but that doesn’t leave him with a ton of options. But really, even if he wasn’t hurting bad enough to pass out—even if he had a whole month to think of an answer—he’s not sure he could come up with anything better than just, “You’re… You’re wrong.”

“Vash, he spends all his time with you. He knows everything about you, and—and _yes,_ I know that’s because he was working for those terrible people before, but now they’re gone, and nothing’s changed.” She slings Vash’s arm around her shoulder again and picks up the pace, forcing Wolfwood to follow suit until they’re almost jogging. Groaning, Vash does his best to keep up, wincing every time one of his thighs nudges up against his aching stomach. “He does a lot of stupid things for you—he’s always getting into trouble with you, and I don’t know anybody else who can make him so mad or so _happy_.”

“I mean…” Vash gives this weak, pained chuckle. “S-Sorry, but I still don’t think I’m getting it!” None of this has to be _romantic_ , right? Sure, he can see how it sounds that way, but he could say the same things about him and Rem! “W-When you say ‘in love’, are you sure you’re not thinking of ‘best friends’?”

“ _Damn it,_ Millie!” barks Wolfwood, and Vash starts wishing he could tune both of them out. “I don’t know if you’re trying to back out of this because you’re scared, o-or—or because you don’t feel the same way I feel about you, but this isn’t the time or the place!”

“Fine!” Millie yells back, and Vash winces as the hand on his wrist tightens like a pair of handcuffs. “You don’t have to believe me. I just wish you’d be honest with yourself.”

“Sure you do,” grumbles Wolfwood, and Vash thinks it might the most condescending tone he’s ever used with Millie.

“Wolfwood…” Vash isn’t even sure where he’s going with this. Sure, he’s still reeling from pain, and from the bombshell Millie just dropped, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s _very_ uncomfortable with seeing his friends tear each other apart like this.

“We both know you didn’t have to stay, Nicholas.” Vash has no clue what Millie means by that, but it’s obvious that Wolfwood does, because he tenses up underneath Vash’s arm.

“… What?” Turning back and forth wildly, Vash almost forgets the pain as he looks from Millie, to Wolfwood, and back again. “What do you mean?”

“Lina’s grandmother never paid him to stay with you, Vash.” There’s a smile on her face now, but it’s so _sad,_ and Vash—God, is this what Wolfwood’s always telling him he looks like. “He made it up. He called me to talk about it, and he told me how worried he was about you. How scared he was that this was going to hurt you, or _worse_. That lie about being your bodyguard… I think he told you that because he didn’t want you to know how worried he was, or… or how much you mean to him.”

There’s this painful silence that drags on for at least a minute—the only sounds are the breeze and their feet hitting the sand. Finally, Wolfwood clears his throat and mumbles something like he’s admitting defeat. “… Of _course_ I care about him, Millie. Needlenoggin’s—he’s… the only one who can really give me a run for my money.” He shakes his head and scoffs. “But we’re not in _love._ For Christ’s sake, I don’t even swing that way! And neither does Vash, so even if you _had_ a point, there’d be no reason for bringing it up!”

Millie does this soft ‘hmm’ noise, but Vash gets the feeling she’s already made up her mind about this. He’s not sure if he’s miserable, or _glad_ when another cramp starts building in his gut. With this horrible, shaky gasp, his legs go rigid and he freezes, both Millie and Wolfwood stumbling as they try not to drop him.

Millie looks Vash up and down, and Vash’s stomach jolts when she says, “We need to hurry.”

“Really?” Wolfwood scoffs, yanking Vash higher against him like he’s hiking up a shoulder bag. “’Cause I was just thinking we oughta make this a leisurely stroll.” With another irritated noise, he ducks and sticks one arm out, and Vash realizes, with a stab of horror, that he’s about to pick him up again. He gets hauled into a strong pair of arms before he can stop it—but _not_ Wolfwood’s.

“Uh.” Vash gawks up at Millie, who gives him an uneasy smile.

“Sorry, Vash!” And that’s all she gives as a warning before she starts sprinting back towards town. Wolfwood yells something and tears off after them, and Vash throws an arm over Millie’s shoulder, face burning red. He doesn’t imagine there were a whole lot of ways this could have been more embarrassing. Giving… _giving birth_ , that is. But somehow, he managed to get involved with almost every one of them.

* * *

“Vash, you idiot! _”_ As soon as Millie lays him back on the guestroom bed, Meryl punches the side of his head. _Hard._

“OWWW!” Vash clutches his skull, moaning and leaning away from her like she’s a rampaging monster. “Wh-What’s the matter with you! Why would you hit me right now!?”

“What’s the matter with me? _”_ Meryl’s so worked up, she’s nearly out of breath. “What’s the matter with _you?_ Why did run off like that?”

“He didn’t know what he was doing, Meryl,” Millie interrupts, putting a hand on her shoulder and pulling her back.

“Some kind of plant thing,” adds Wolfwood. “Guess he blacked out and tried to hole himself up in a cave.”

“Yeesh. Sounds so humiliating when you put it like that,” grumbles Vash.

“Vash, you’ve got bigger problems to worry about.” Meryl jerks an arm towards the door where Grams and Lina are hovering. “Everybody out.” Wolfwood and Millie just stare. Meryl glares back, then starts ordering. “Lina, go wait by the phone. Wolfwood—take that weird radio thing and try and get a hold of that professor person. Millie, I need you to get hot water and towels.” There’s an awkward silence before everybody slowly does what they’re told. Swallowing, Meryl shakes her head, then looks down at the floor. “Vash, I know you wanted privacy, but…” She looks up, locking eyes with Vash, and his heart drops. “I don’t think your friend is going to make it here in time. I have… a little experience with this stuff, but you’d be a lot safer in the hands of a real doctor.” Her voice stays perfectly steady, but Vash sees her hands slowly ball into fists. “It’s up to you , who you… want to help with this.”

“Gee, Meryl.” Vash just—okay, he knows how stupid it is, but he panics, and _defaults_. “I-I mean, you seeing those parts of me! W-We haven’t even had a first date—“

“VASH!” Meryl smacks his knee, cheeks going pink. She ducks again, and Vash feels completely rotten when, as she raises her head, she seems ready to cry. “If there’s ever been a time for you to be serious, this is it. I want to help you, but you need to act like a real person and tell me what you want.”

Vash’s heart starts pounding harder. It doesn’t really make any sense; he was calmer being stuck in the desert, calmer when Millie and Wolfwood were tearing each other apart right next to him. Maybe it’s just now sinking in, Vash doesn’t know. But he _does_ know he can’t waste any more time. “Well…” Smiling weakly, he looks down at the blankets covering him, picking at one of the loose threads. “The doctor here’s pretty amazing. And he’s patched me up a bunch before.” He lifts his head slowly, still smiling, and shrugs. “But I trust you a lot more, Meryl.”

Meryl jumps, like she wasn’t expecting Vash to pick her, then nods once. Then there’s a long pause before she says (in a way that makes it sound like she’s trying her hardest not to sound as awkward as it actually is), “If I’m going to do this, Vash, I’m going to have to… You know. _Look.”_ Vash just stares, but it’s more because he doesn’t _want_ to believe that’s what she means, and less because he’s really that clueless. Meryl goes into more detail, anyway. “ _Down there.”_

Vash screws his face up, same way he would if he’d stubbed his toe, then whispers through gritted teeth, “Ffffffffiiiiiine.”

He lets Meryl help him onto his back, and prop his feet up. She even puts another sheet over his knees so he doesn’t have to look at her… looking at _him._ Even though the pain makes for an okay distraction, Vash can’t help but feel gross and sorta… _ashamed_ when Millie peels up the sheet to have a look. Of course, he goes from shame to panic real quick when Meryl yelps.

“Oh my God!”

“What!?” Vash cranes his neck up, trying to see over the bulge of his stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Sorry, nothing. It’s just…” Meryl’s head pops back into view over his knees, her hand over her mouth as she thinks deeply for a couple seconds. “I don’t want to scare you, but… you’re a lot closer to—to _getting this over with_ than I thought.”

Vash isn’t sure if he should be relieved or completely freaked out, so his brain just sends a pure jolt of _both_ feelings down his spine. “Really?”

“Well— _yeah.”_ Meryl covers Vash up again, and the good news is, it’s hard to feel too squeamish about her seeing him like this when she’s completely lost in thought. “Normally, for first time mothers, it can take over a day to give birth. But…” Vash tries not to get too hung up over the word ‘mothers’, waiting for her to finish. “How long have you been hurting?”

“A couple hours, I—I _think?_ ” It started sometime after he got up, and the sun’s still out, but nobody’s told him how long he was gone for. “It’s… kind of a blur. But it all started happening this morning.” Well, assuming it was _this_ morning, and he hasn’t been missing for an entire day. 

Meryl shakes her head, like she’s giving up on trying to explain what happened. “Must be a plant thing.” She lets out this tiny, almost-laugh. “I’m actually really glad you’re okay with me doing this, Vash. I mean—n-not just because I want to help, but…” She sighs. “Well, let’s be logical, here! There’s no way in hell that professor was going to make it in time. Not with how fast your body’s working.”

Vash had some kind of reply in mind, but whatever it was, it fizzles apart when another cramp snakes its way through him.

“Vash?”

“S-Sorry. I guess it’s starting to get pretty painful.” Not that it wasn’t already, but Vash has dealt with worse! Just… maybe not for this long. And not without being _maimed_ first.

“Vash!” Meryl looks like she wants to start shaking him the way Wolfwood was, but holds herself back. “You have to _tell_ me stuff like that! _”_ She touches his knee again so he’ll look like her. “If you keep trying to hide how bad you feel, all you’re going to do is make things worse.” Eyebrows bunching up, Meryl gives him a smile that’s almost sadder than Millie’s was. “How do you think all of us would feel if something happened to you?”

“I…” Vash swallows and goes quiet. That’s not the way it’s supposed to go, you know? He’s the one who can handle being shot at a hundred times, he’s the one who’s probably going to keep on living and living and living _,_ past everybody in this house. (Except maybe Wolfwood.) He’s the one who’s supposed to worry about everyone else, and that’s another reason he’s hated all this. It doesn’t feel right, having other people _scared_ for him. It’s been hard enough being scared for himself.

“Just try to keep breathing, okay?” Meryl squeezes his knee gently, then lifts the sheet slowly over his legs. “And relax. I know it’s hard when you’re hurting this badly, but you can do it.”

After she says that, Meryl steps out of the room to take what Millie brought from downstairs. Vash hears her tell Millie to stand outside if she needs any more help, and for Lina to get ready in case she has to run and get the doctor. Then she comes back into the room, lifts up the sheet again, takes this slow, steady inhale—and Vash knows she’s trying to keep herself calm, too. “Okay. The next time the pain starts to build up, I want you to try and push.”

Vash nods, and almost wants to ask _how_ he’s supposed to push, but it doesn’t seem that hard to figure out. A couple months ago, he didn’t even have some of these body parts, but now they’re the only things his body seems to be able to feel. The throbbing ache, the way it slowly eats at every other part of him until all he can do is ride it out, is pretty hard to ignore. It’s getting kind of difficult to tell when a new cramp starts, but Vash does his best to figure it out. As soon as the pain feels like it’s going away (even though it never does, not completely) Vash takes in these weak, shallow breaths, then holds in that air as the next ache builds, finally digging his fingernails into the covers. He leans forward around his belly, and clenching with everything he’s got. Honestly, he’s not sure if he’s doing anything; it’s hard to tell if he can even move those muscles, never mind figure out where they are underneath all the pain. But Meryl gives him this pat on the knee and nods, like she’s asking him to do it again.

Then, out of nowhere, Vash is hit by this _wave_ , and suddenly, he’s so tired, all he wants to do is curl up and wait for this to go away on its own. …But that’s stupid, and it’s not going to happen, And Vash has the bad feeling that that thinking like that might get him killed. The next wave begins creeping up the back of his spine, and along the sides of his belly, and Vash really does feel like crying. But he holds that in, trying to take a deeper breath than the last one, sucking in as much air as he can before the pain gets too bad to keep it up. Then, with his teeth clenched so tight his jaw twinges, Vash curls forward again, eyes screwed shut, a few drops of sweat falling off his forehead, as he bears down with everything he’s got.

“G—Good! Good, Vash! Keep doing that!” Meryl ducks out of sight, sounding half-terrified, half-relieved. “You’re close, okay? You’re really close. Just a few more tries.”

Vash has no idea if she’s right, or if she’s making that up so he won’t lose hope completely, but he—he _trusts_ her. And he wants to believe Meryl’s telling him the truth. In the few seconds between pangs, Vash leans his head back, sucking in more air like it’s water and he’s dying of thirst. The next wave doesn’t waste any time overtaking him, and Vash makes this miserable noise, whining as he digs his heels into the mattress. He holds it until it gets bad enough to make his eyes water. Then, again—he leans forward until his chest sinks into his stomach, but this time, when he tries to _shove_ with all the muscle he’s got, he feels it. He can _feel_ something. This pressure he didn’t even know was there through all the pain, it goes _down._ The same kind of drop you feel in your stomach you get when you go over a steep hill way too fast, or miss a step going down the stairs, but a thousand times more intense. And just like that, Vash knows Meryl wasn’t kidding. He _is_ close, and he’s gonna be done with this soon. He can make it.

Wondering about how that much longer it might be—or if he’s not as close as Meryl’s telling him he is. He can’t afford to think about that now. He’s just going to breathe, hold that in for as long as he can stand it, and then push that pressure, that weight, down through him. Time is passing, he knows it is, but it’s all in a blur. It could be a few minutes, or an hour that drags by, but he keeps going, telling himself that no matter how dizzy or lightheaded he gets, there’s no way in hell he’s gonna let himself pass out. For some stupid, _weird_ reason, the first thought that pops into his head after that is something about how Wolfwood would kill him if he did, but he shoves that deep down in the back of his mind and tightens every muscle he’s got so he can push again.

It’s embarrassing—even with Vash so far out of it—having Meryl see him like this, and it’s worse having her see these weird, new parts of him that he’s still not used to having himself. And even through all the pain, it’s humiliating that he can feel it. The _baby_ , moving further down, getting closer to… to _coming out of him._ It’s insane! Vash still isn’t used to the idea, even though he’s had a month to think about it (which, after living for over a hundred years, still doesn’t seem like that much).

But now, all this craziness, this—this weird little ‘vacation’ with Lina and Grams and Wolfwood where he watched his own body totally change shape. Where he got shot because of how slow and weak he’s become, where he felt these things he can’t really explain, inside his stomach, and in his _brain_ …

Now, it’s about to be over.

“One more! One more, Vash! Almost done. You’re almost done.” Meryl doesn’t even sound like she’s breathing, and Vash understands how she feels. He might not be breathing anymore, either. It’s just clench, hold that, unclench, and try to relax before the next cramp bowls him over. It’s hurting so much worse, now. If he thought he might pass out before, that was nothing compared to how bad it’s gotten. His body’s fighting him with everything it’s got, like it wants to hold this weight, this pressure, inside, and Vash is nearly killing himself by trying to do the opposite. Meryl grabs a towel, and Vash can’t feel it, but he sees her dabbing at him… down there. He tries not to get too dizzy when she tosses it aside and he sees it’s stained dark red. But she doesn’t seem worried, and Vash has to remind himself that he trusts her. And if Meryl’s not scared, Vash shouldn’t be, either.

Waiting, he drops his head back, then digs his heels into the mattress and grits his jaw, holding himself back until the pain hits its peak. Then he bears down as hard as he can, even though he’s so goddamn tired, even though he doesn’t want to do anything more than cry and pass out. And he knows he’s done it—or, he’s _almost_ done it. There’s no other way to describe it, no way to make it sound less gross and strange than it is, but he _feels_ something slip out of him. And then Meryl’s muttering to herself, something Vash can’t hear, but she speaks up and Vash can make out the words, which sound foggy and far-off: ‘one more push’. So, even though his muscles aren’t ready for that yet, even though he’s _dead_ tired, he tightens up and he does it again, as hard as he can, two or three times, just—just _tightening_ his middle until he thinks he might break in half, and Meryl grabs it, she _pulls—_

Vash falls back onto the bed. His lungs hurt, his legs hurt, and his middle aches like a Nebraska just landed on it. But it’s already so much better than it was just a few seconds ago. That took everything out of him. He’s never been this tired, never worked himself this hard in his life. Sometimes he feels like he’s not sure when he says things like that, because everything that’s happened in the last hundred and thirty years can be hard to remember.

Not this time, though. Vash knows it. His ears are ringing, and he wants to close his eyes and drift off. He really feels like he’s earned that. But he can’t.

Because, before he can do any of that, the silence is broken by a tiny, shuddering cry.


End file.
